


The Undergrad Troll's Guide to Convivial Human Interaction

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Dave Strider, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Near Future, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, American Sign Language, Deaf Dave Strider, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Implied Trans Dave Strider, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Selectively Mute Dave Strider, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24852349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: In order to conduct any business on Earth, all trolls must possess at least a bachelor's degree in cross-species diplomacy. In order to get a degree in cross-species diplomacy, trolls are required to "foster" a human for one year. This is already a daunting task, but, in exchange for the right to study, all selected human fosters are also the recipients of genetically designed superpowers.One troll gets a partner with whom she immediately finds common ground. Another gets a partner he can barely communicate with.This is their guide to dealing with humans, written by trolls whose only interactions with mammalian lifeforms has been in strictly academic settings.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 140
Kudos: 195
Collections: Across the Universes: A Collection of all my DaveKat Fics





	1. Meeting and Greeting Your New Companion

**Author's Note:**

> i had an idea. it's an idea. yeah. [jazz hands]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i cheated a little. dave talks some just to get the ball rolling.

**Date: Friday, 1 January 2055** **  
** **Location: A spaceship over Skaia City** **  
** **Time: Approximately 11:30**

It happens once every three years. Every student wishing to graduate with a degree in cross-species diplomacy is assigned a singular human. They are to grant this particular human abilities beyond those of others, tutor them for a year, and release them back into the human population as a way for the strange race to protect itself. The pool of humans is selected by nomination, and those chosen are then assigned to a corresponding troll.

Karkat Vantas has always considered this a pointless, inane, and empty gesture. From what he’s observed, it only results in humans high on power. It’s the same thing every time. They grant a person powers, and the person goes from sipping on their newfound abilities to absolutely drenching themselves in them. It was a failure from the start, but it’s also required for him to even receive the permit to open a business on Earth. After all, no Alternians are allowed to conduct business on another planet without a degree in diplomatic relations.

Thus, he finds himself staring at his subject. A male, by all appearances, with a tall, almost gangly form and skin so pale that he’s amazed the human was considered healthy enough for the oral medication needed to produce the so-called superpowers. His eyes are hidden behind aviator style sunglasses, and his thin lips are pulled into a distinct frown. He seems listless, never once responding to any sort of auditory clue, and never bothering to speak. Instead, he seems busy anxiously rubbing his hands together.

Karkat sighs. Of course he’d get the one human that doesn’t match the standard profile. He flips open his handbook, inside of which this human’s new powers and personal information are documented.

Legal Name: David Strider   
Pre-Ritual Isolation Period: 20 Dec. 2053 - 31 Dec. 2054   
Birthday: 3 Dec. 2030   
Age: 25   
Powers: Time   
Language(s) Spoken: None   
Language(s) Understood: English, Spanish   
Health: Subject arrived in a poor state. Various augmentative procedures were required, including consultation with Human doctors to replace auditory processing device components. Subject responds well to stimuli, but is prone to rare violent outbursts, for which the cause is unknown.   
Personal Information: Human subject was born in Houston, Texas. Unknown background. Subject has a criminal record, which includes armed robbery, resisting arrest, and petty theft. Subject prone to violent outbursts, source unknown. Subject was nominated via a prisoner deal in exchange for dropping a charge of minor theft.

A groan. Karkat drags his red-tinged claws through his mop of wiry black hair. He rolls his eyes. In the reflections cast by the mirror at the back of the so-called “Bonding Cubicle”, he eyes himself over. Short, no more than five feet tall, with a stocky, rounded build. His grey skin clashes with the yellow of his eyes, which is slowly beginning to give way to candy red at the centers. He clicks his tongue a few times, allowing himself a moment to mentally prepare himself for the switch from the more guttural language of Alternia to the more nasal sounds of English. He clears his throat.

“Human,” he enunciates, trying his best to apply the concepts he’d learned in his Diplomacy with the Human Species course he’s just finished taking, “Your name is Dave Strider, correct?”

Dave nods.

“Okay. So that’s factual,” Karkat mutters to himself. He flips the page in his booklet and studies the newly presented information. ‘First Steps to Diplomatic Relations with Your Human’ is emblazoned across the top of the two page spread.

“Your human has been assigned to you due to a variety of variables, including their specific personality type and their needs. Remember, you cannot return your human, nor can you request a different one. This is an exercise in diplomacy, understanding, and negotiation. You will live with your human and train them in how to control your ability.

“Your chosen human, DAVE STRIDER, will be trained in the use of HIS innate ability of TIME and your abilities in the field of BLOOD. At the end of the year, you shall be graded based upon the bond you have formed with your Human Student. Please be aware that humans are entitled to file complaints against their mentors, and any individuals found to be engaging in abuse of any kind will be immediately and permanently expelled from the program.

“To start your relationship, we recommend asking these questions: How are you today? Has the pre-ritual stay been enjoyable? What is your family like? What sort of extracurricular activities do you partake in? What is your favorite Human sport?”

After finishing all of this, Karkat comes to realize that the pamphlet is about as useful as a book of knock-knock jokes. He stuffs the notes into his bag and eyes Dave over once more. “So…” he asks, drawing out the vowel. He absentmindedly scratches his claws against the tough, textured fabric of his Alternian Academy-issued uniform slacks. For all of the bookwork he’s done, he finds himself unprepared to actually speak to a human. Reluctantly, he tries one of the suggested topics of conversation. “Uh… What’s your family like?”

Dave shrugs. His hands move, forming distinct gestures, and his face shows signs of nuanced emotion, but he says nothing.

“Okay. Fuck. I guess that’s a touchy subject. Do you like sports?”

There’s a momentary pause. Dave taps his fingers against his leg, shrugs, then nods.

“I don’t know anything about your fucking weird human sports. I guess the only one I’d even be able to claim I have a tenuous grasp on is basketball. Which sport do you like?” There’s something oddly superficial about all of the conversation. There’s nothing really meaningful being said, nor is there useful information being exchanged. Perhaps what he learns might be handy to know later, but he sees little point in it, now. Still, according to the clock, he has an hour of ‘early bonding’ left.

“Hm.” Dave mimes an action, as if he’s holding a stick against the ground. He moves it side to side, glances to Karkat, and raises a single brow above the impenetrable shield of his mirrored black shades.

“Was I supposed to understand that pointless charade?”

Dave frowns. His shoulders sink a bit, and he attempts to gesture again. When this fails to draw any recognition for the second time, he speaks. His voice is soft, hoarse, and a few steps higher in pitch than Karkat would expect from a male human of his size. “I don’t talk,” he mumbles. His words are muddled, and the sounds blend awkwardly together. “Don’t hear well. So... I don’t talk.”

“You… don’t talk?”

A small smile. A nod. “Hm.” He mimes the act of writing.

“I don’t have a pen, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t have paper, either. I guess they expected me to know the meaning of whatever the fuck you’re doing with your hands? Sure, Vantas, we know you’re top of the class for the diplomatic relations major, so why don’t we throw you at the most problematic case we can fucking find? Go and blow your head out trying to figure this out.” Karkat rants without really thinking; it’s what he’s always done.

Dave mumbles something else.

“What?”

There’s a look of discomfort on Dave’s face, now. He shifts his weight back and forth, from one foot to the other. His hands wring together, and he takes a few seconds to physically recompose himself before he tries again. When he speaks up, his voice is clearer, but not much louder. “You. Name?”

“Karkat.”

A hum of understanding. Dave holds his right hand up, roughly level with his chest. The palm faces outward. He forms six distinct shapes with his fingers. The thumb points upward, between a straight vertical index finger and an almost horizontal middle finger. The fingers curl, forming a tight fist, with the thumb to the side. The index and middle fingers cross one another, remaining vertically upright. The first shape is repeated; then, the second. Finally, another fist is formed, but the thumb is placed upright, between the first and second fingers, as if performing a “got your nose” trick. Karkat can only assume that, together, these spell his name.

“Okay…” Uncertain of what more to say, it’s now Karkat’s turn to awkwardly grasp as straws. “If you can’t hear me, how do you know what I’m saying?”

Dave coughs. One hand rubs the back of his neck, and the other brushes some of his light blond hair to the side. “I…” he draws out the letter, hesitant to continue. After a moment, he seems to decide that he’s on the right track. “I hear you, but not well.” He moves some of the hair on the side of his head back, revealing a round, pale yellow device set against his scalp.

“Is there a reason you’re talking like that?” On one hand, Karkat is aware that he’s coming across as more than a little rude; on the other hand, he’s only ever learned curses and formal English. “Fuck. I’ll keep to yes or no questions. Is that acceptable?”

Dave nods.

“Is my English overly formal?”

A shrug. Dave raises his hand and wiggles it back and forth.  _ “Somewhat,”  _ he seems to be saying.

“Fucking fair, I guess. Do you enjoy talking? Is it easy?”

Two consecutive head shakes.  _ No. _

“Well, fuck me a hundred ways to sideways, I guess. Of course they’d just stick you with me. They’re probably still pissed that a mutant-blood has the current highest grade in the course.” Karkat sighs. He wanders to a nearby armchair and sits, propping his feet atop the adjacent stool. “Is there a way for me to communicate with you faster than whatever sort of shit I’m chasing after right now?”

_ Yes. _ Dave holds his hands at chest level, with the palms facing inwards. Both index fingers are extended, and he moves his forearms, so that the fingers circulate, as if peddling a bike.

“That gesturing you’re doing? Is that the shit I have to figure out to talk to you?”

_ Yes.  _ Dave offers a small smile. Keeping his palm out, he balls his fingers into a fist, then bends his wrist, as if knocking on a door. He repeats the motion.

Karkat copies the motion. “Yes?”

_ Yes.  _ The smile grows slightly. “Easy,” he says, his tone blithely cheerful.

“I fucking guess.” Karkat buries his face in his hands.

_ This is going to be a fucking long year. _

Elsewhere on the ship, concurrent with Karkat and Dave’s meeting, two women greet one another for the first time. The troll is the first to speak. She stands with a natural grace, and her tall, slender figure lends itself to her hand-sewn dress. “My name is Kanaya Maryam,” she says, carefully enunciating each syllable, “I have been briefed on your information, and understand that you are Rose Lalonde.”

The human woman nods. Her skin is a rich, medium brown, and her eyes are a vibrant shade of light amber. A bit of black has begun to peek through her loose, bleached curls, and her full lips are highlighted with a bright pink gloss. “That would be correct.” She eagerly takes Kanaya’s outstretched hand into hers. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Maryam.”

“You may simply call me Kanaya.”

“Very well.” Rose sits on the provided sofa, leaving space for her host.

Kanaya, not seeing much to be afraid of, joins her. As she speaks, she finds that her gaze is consistently drawn to Rose’s eyes. Heat rises to her arched horns, turning them from gold to dark, flushed orange. “As I’m sure you know, I’ll be training you in your aspect of light, and you have also inherited my aptitude for the element of space.”

“This seems perfectly agreeable to me.” Rose’s voice is tinged with a hint of an emotion that Kanaya can’t quite place. She hasn’t had enough experience with humans to understand their nuances, but she believes that she can see a slight blush coloring Rose’s cheeks. “And you will be my tutor?”

“Of course. You may ask me any questions that you might have, and I will be happy to help you. As per our pamphlet, we are going to be residing in residence building A, room three-hundred-fourteen dash B. In fact, I happen to know our suitemate, Karkat Vantas. He is a long time friend of mine.”

A spark of recognition burns in Rose’s eyes. She snickers. “And I do believe that this particular troll’s partnered human is Dave Strider.”

“Correct. Do you know them?” The longer the discussion goes, the more at ease Kanaya feels. Initially, she had dreaded this meeting. She’s been anxiously running through scenarios in her head, wondering what would happen if she couldn’t get a good discussion going. Now, however, in Rose’s presence, she finds that words flow as freely as water through a flooded stream.

And, if the casual nature of Rose’s comments is anything to go by, the feeling seems mutual. “Indeed. He’s my cousin. Small world, I guess.”

Kanaya grins.

_ This is going to be the best year of her life. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trapped in idea hell on an endless feedback loop of my own stupid bullshit release me from this prison. I mean uh. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Getting to Know Your Human Companion, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've been here a while, you know the drill. if not, anything [in brackets like this] is sign language. i got the sign for yes and no mixed up last chapter. it is fixed now. that's a patch note. if you want a city overview, i generated a map [here](https://godtiermeme.tumblr.com/post/621650234002604032/i-got-bored-and-made-a-map-i-guess). since i technically posted this yesterday, here's another update i fucking guess.

**Date: Saturday, 2 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 08:30**

The apartment is small. Terribly, claustrophobically small. There’s just enough room for a bunk bed, a pair of small desks, a miniature kitchen (with a full sized fridge taking up nearly half of it), a sofa, and a coffee table. A small television is mounted on the wall; by the time Dave has woken up, it’s tuned to the news channel.

“Recalibration in progress.” The noise thrums directly against Dave’s eardrums. He feels the announcement against his skull. A pounding reminder of his own aural so-called augmentation. “Calibration complete.”

“Oh. You’re awake.” Karkat, whose back had been turned to face the stove, greets Dave with a forced smile. Everything about him is uncomfortable. Beyond the empty grin, there’s the way his shoulders are squared and how he refuses to meet Dave’s gaze. “I put a notebook and a pen on the desk for you. We can talk that way until I figure out how the fuck moving my appendages around constitutes as a human language.”

Dave sighs. He’s used to the sense of isolation by now. His father had never believed in allowing him to be in a different school from everyone else. Once, he’d considered that a gift; now, he recognizes it as a burden. He never got a chance to truly socialize with others, perhaps aside from the rare visits from his uncle, Dirk.

“It’s called sign language. I guess trolls didn’t do that sort of shit. Humans use it for people who can’t hear well or speak. It’s not exactly super common. Most people don’t know it. If it’s just going to be a year, you really don’t have to learn it too much, either.” 

Dave taps the end of the red ballpoint against the page for a moment. He considers if he has more to say. After deciding that he’s written all he needs to, he passes the book to Karkat.

The troll reads quickly. He nods, passes the book back to Dave, and shrugs. “If we’re going to be trapped in this pitiful excuse for a respiteblock for a whole sweep, we might as well try and learn how to communicate with each other in a way we both understand. Besides, I guess learning something new isn’t ever really a bad thing. So, what? You spelled my name yesterday. Something like…” Karkat goes from memory, trying to recreate the same series of hand shapes as Dave.

And, in return, Dave smiles. It’s a genuine, sizable expression, and it’s tinged with a palpable relief. He nods, clearly eager to see someone putting some effort into communicating with him, and takes Karkat’s hand. He corrects the nuanced issues, gently manipulating the troll’s digits into the correct shape. When all six letters have been signed, he pats Karkat on the shoulder. “Mmhm,” he affirms.

He steps back. As he had before, he raises his hand to roughly chest level. His fingers form a lowercase “D” shape, with the thumb, middle, ring, and little fingers creating the rounded portion. This flows into a closed fist, with the thumb at the side. Then, a peace sign. Finally, he tucks his thumb against his palm and beneath the tips of all of his fingers, which are tightly curled. “Dave,” he explains.

“Okay.” Karkat slowly repeats the series, and Dave corrects him. When he’s done, he flashes a small smile. It’s the first time Dave has seen that expression on his face, and it sends his heart rate skyrocketing. The words that follow barely register beneath the wet thud of his own heart slamming against his chest. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hm.” After a moment of recovery, Dave scribbles another response. Years of practice have resulted in a knack for rapid handwriting. It’s not exactly the prettiest on the planet, but it’s legible to most everyone, and, above all, it works.

“Thanks for trying. Most people just brush me off. You asked me yesterday what sports I liked to watch. I’m not really a sports fan, to be as fucking frank as a ballpark hot dog, but I guess the ones I actually don’t hate to see are hockey, baseball, and basketball. Do aliens have sports? Is that a chill thing to say?”

“We’ve got bloodsport,” Karkat explains, wrinkling his nose at the fact. “We have what I guess you softer lifeforms would consider extreme fighting, and we have domination gauntlets, which are just marathon fights. I hate both of them. I don’t get the appeal in watching two beefed up trolls clobber every last bit of grey matter out of one another.” He pauses, checks the sizzling pan of sausage, and clears his throat. “You’re a lot more eloquent on paper, Strider. That’s probably not a super polite thing to say, but I’m sure you already consider me an annoying, insensitive shitwank.”

“Not really the chillest thing to say, no. :/ You’re not as distant as most people, but that’s probably because you have to make sure I don’t report you, right? I mean… Honestly, I wouldn’t care if you just let me go and I faked the whole exchange thing, but you seem like the honest sort of folk who wouldn’t be down to clown with that idea. Thanks for the compliment, I guess.”

When Karkat finishes reading, he returns the notebook. It’s something that he assumes he’ll get used to as time passes. “Fuck. I forgot to ask if you’re a vegetarian.”

Dave shakes his head.  _ No. _

“Great. My ass is safe from criticism for your meal, then.”

“Unless it tastes mad bad.”

Since the comment is short, Dave simply turns the page to face Karkat. It’s simpler and quicker than handing it over.

Karkat shrugs. He scrapes the now-finished meal onto a plate, hands it to Dave, and sits on one of the two barstools in front of the central kitchen island. He says something, but the accompanying yawn and the fact that he covers his mouth makes it impossible for Dave to understand the whole statement.

“Repeat that?”

There’s a hint of mild annoyance on the troll’s face, but it quickly fades. “We never learned about deaf humans in our courses. I honestly thought it was the same with you meaty flesh sacks as it was for us.”

Dave cocks his head to the side.

“On Alternia,” Karkat explains, “And on the affiliated colonies, most deaf trolls are automatically provided the necessary tools to hear via technology, so we don’t have any that simply refuse to speak. Or, I guess, who don’t like speaking. At least, personally, I don’t know of any.”

Even as years of buried, subconscious resentment bubble up, from the depths of his heart, and bleed through the pen and onto the page before him, Dave maintains an aloof disposition. He keeps his posture loose, and he forces his expression to remain implacable. To be read by another human like an open book is embarrassing enough; he doesn’t need an alien from an entirely different species to know his insecurities.

“I can hear well enough to get the gist of what you’re throwing down, dude. I’m reading you loud and fucking clear. I just had a totally fucked upbringing. I didn’t learn to start making coherent noises with my mouth until I was probably closer to seven or eight years old. Y’all don’t use years, do you? Sweeps? Is that what they’re called? Anyhow, it doesn’t really matter. It’s already annoying enough trying to talk to other people, so I’m going to say it’s a bitch for you to try and figure this out. I’d apologize, but it’s not exactly my fault that nobody gives a rat’s ass about me.”

Karkat, thankfully, seems to buy the act. As he hands the notebook back, his brows furrow, and the blunted tips of formerly sharp teeth peek through a deep frown. “Shit. Sorry. I know how that feels, if it helps. I’m a mutant blood.” Without being asked, Karkat demonstrates. He digs the tip of one of his sharpened claws into the tip of his left thumb. When he squeezes, a drop of bright red oozes out. “Technically, we’re supposed to be culled at birth, but I was spared by living in the middle of assfuck nowhere. By the time I entered school, I was deemed intelligent enough to be spared the retractable blade of the cranial removal device.”

“A guillotine?”

Dave smirks as he turns the notebook to face Karkat.

“If that’s what you humans call it, I guess. How the fuck would you even pronounce that? I mean —. Fuck. FUCK. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… You can’t talk…” Karkat continues babbling, but Dave doesn’t listen.

Instead, he writes furiously, with speed and inelegance. The letters come with little precision, but a keen eye might be able to pick out the signs of frustration that show. The edges are more pointed, sharper, and the pen rips through the thin page in a few spots. When he finishes, he presses the notebook to Karkat’s chest. The action is rougher than he means for it be.

“I can talk. I sure as fuck can talk, I’m just not very good at it. People call me an idiot when I try to say shit out loud, using my God-given mouth, but I guess being delayed on the babbling front until I was almost a full-fledged kid wrecked my coherence. If you want to say that I can’t talk for your own convenience, then go ahead, but it’s not exactly true.”

“Sorry.” Karkat’s gaze lowers.

Dave shakes his head. He takes the notepad back, gently, this time.

“It’s fine. I’m just a little jumpy when it comes to shit like that. Don’t take it personal-like or whatever. I mean. I can’t really explain it all, because it’s this complicated tangle of personal bullshit, but that doesn’t matter to you. I’m perfectly intelligent, coherent, and articulate. It just doesn’t come across when I speak, so I choose not to. If I have to, I will. It’s like my voice doesn’t match my body, right? Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

Dave shrugs. At this point, he doesn’t feel like arguing the point or giving the stranger more information than he really needs to know. His thoughts, his past, and his history are his own, and nobody is entitled to the knowledge until he deems them worthy of it. So, instead, he changes the topic. He gestures to the television.

“Shows?” Karkat inquires, seeming to take great relief in the sudden shift in the conversation’s tone. “What shows do I like?”

_ Yes.  _ Dave nods and signs at the same time, hoping that the troll will come to associate the sign with the phrase.

“Oh. Uh.” Karkat rubs his chin. Beneath his rough, grey palm, thin, scraggly stubble is visible. Now that he’s noticed it, the presence of facial hair on a literal space alien produces a small bit of jealousy from Dave. “I don’t know. I like romance movies and game shows, I guess. Humans imported  _ Jeopardy!  _ and  _ Wheel of Fortune  _ to Alternia, so I guess that’s something we have in common.” He looks expectantly to Dave, waiting for something more to be said or written.

By now, however, Dave has tired of writing. He shrugs. He eats, and an awkward, strained silence fills the room.

“Those things behind your ears,” Karkat eventually says, creating the smallest crash in the heavy atmosphere, “They help you hear, correct?”

[Yes.]

“So, am I safe in assuming that, without them, you’d hear fuck all?”

[Yes.]

“Oh…” Karkat takes out a handheld device, similar in size, shape, and apparent function to a tablet computer. From the breast pocket of his wrinkled Academy-issue button-up, he takes a telescoping stylus. He makes a note, then sets the device down, on the countertop. “Are you sick of writing?”

[Yes.]

“I guess that means that we’re done talking for now?”

A heavy sigh escapes Dave. He kneads his knuckles against his thigh. After a few seconds have passed, he writes the last response he feels willing to create for the time being.

“It’s neither efficient nor convenient for me to have to write everything I want to say. Like I’ve been implying, but maybe you aren’t picking the crumbs up, I don’t really give a shit about this whole song and dance. I just wanted to stay the same nobody, doing my inane shit. I didn’t sign up for this, and it’s not like I’m super jazzed to be here. You seem like a nice enough dude, but I can’t really conversation it up with you like I can with people who know sign language. So, yeah. I guess the TL;DR is that I’m done for now. Thanks for the breakfast.”

Karkat nods. He offers a tentative thumbs up, then takes a pen from his pocket. He holds it over the notepad, only writing once he gets a nod from Dave. When he finishes, he slides his reply across the counter.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll just head on down to the library. If you need anything, you can send me a text. Is that, as you humans would say, ‘chill’?”

[Yes.]

* * *

**Date: Saturday, 2 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Skaia City Central Library (6538 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 13:00**

“Ah. Karkat!” A familiar, welcome voice, the first recognizable sound he’s heard in twenty-four hours, grabs Karkat’s attention. When he looks to the source, he’s greeted by his old friend, Kanaya. She waves. “I brought my Human Companion here, to the library, for some bonding time! She’s splendid to be with. How are you faring with yours?”

“Well, for starters, he doesn’t fucking talk.” Karkat thumbs through a book, which promises to teach him sign language in one week or less. “We’ve been going around in giant, pointless circles of back and forth charades, trying to understand what the other is saying. I wish I got someone as fucking delightful as you apparently have. What’s her name? Rose?”

“Yes!” Kanaya beams. She seems happier than Karkat can remember her being in years. “In fact, she might be able to help. See, she says that she’s related to your charge. Do not ask me how, for I do not understand the exact nature of human family trees, but she can probably translate some of these gestures.”

“That would honestly be helpful as fuck.” Karkat breathes a sigh of relief. He shelves the book, having found its contents more tailored to the mind of a young grub than a near-fully-developed reader. “I wouldn’t want you to have to go up your ass to get to your elbow, though. You can always drop by for a visit.” As he speaks, he looks at the other books that are available. One, titled  _ Lifeprint _ , catches his eye.

“We live right next door to you, actually. We share the same bathroom. I find that odd, being that humans seem so intent on segregating their male and female population from one another, but it is no dermis off of my fangs.” Kanaya shrugs. She brushes a stray strand of hair—its texture softer and straighter than Karkat’s—from her face. “Unfortunately, Rose has promised to show me her preferred knitting spot, somewhere in the nearby park, as the weather is quite pleasant. But, perhaps, tomorrow?”

“Sounds fine with me. I can fix us dinner. Or pay for it. Does Rose have dietary restrictions I should know about? I mean, remember when Sollux got that human, who was allergic to peanuts? We almost had a fucking death investigation on our hands.”

“None that I am aware of. If any come to light, I shall text you immediately. Is this arrangement agreeable?” Kanaya smiles. It’s a soft, familiar sight. It warms Karkat’s heart and soothes his worries, like the song of a mother to her crying offspring.

“Of fucking course. Make it a deal?” Karkat extends his little finger.

Kanaya, hooking her own little finger around Karkat’s, seals the promise, in the traditional Alternian fashion. “Indeed! We shall see you tomorrow, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'm on [the tunglr](https://godtiermeme.tumblr.com/) and [the tweeter](https://twitter.com/sealandisreal).


	3. Getting to Know Your Human Companion, Part II

**Date: Sunday, 3 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 11:30**

“LOG ENTRY, DAY THREE: So far, I think I’ve done nothing but piss my human charge off in the most royal sense possible. I have assumed control of the helm of the icebreaker, and rammed it aground with the grace of a dying man. I have no idea how to deal with this individual, and, since I know this log book will be graded by the Alternian University council, I blame you all for intentionally assigning me the hardest case out of spite. I have looked through the historical texts. There has never once been a deaf human assigned to a troll during these diplomatic forays. Of course I, the mutant, would be the unwilling, squeaking test mammal.

“And of  _ fucking  _ course I’d assume command of this idiot. He’s incoherent, rambling, and nothing he even writes makes sense in the slightest without a goddamned doctoral degree in human cultural studies. A meme? What the  _ fuck  _ is a meme? I’ve been told it’s a widely disseminated joke, often distributed via the humans’ piddly concept of a rudimentary internet, but they’re not even funny. They’re nonsensical, pictographic ‘jokes’, sometimes with inane phrases crudely slapped on top.

“Kanaya had promised me that she would arrive tonight to have dinner with us, but it seems that she, being the model student you all so desire, was given the perfect match. They’re practically in matesprit cahoots with one another, probably frotting it up as I pen this ridiculous daily assignment. So, no, they’re not coming over. They’ll be going to the bowling alley, presumably to engage in the arcane ritual of the sport. Do I understand that, either? No.

“I might  _ act  _ cordial and pleasant around Dave, but that’s because I have to. He’s a grating, demoralizing insult to my education. Was this planned from the start? Was I set up to fail? My only recourse is that he’s too fucking casual to even bother filing a complaint, and I doubt he’d even be able to properly complete one. He talks big, but it’s all a ruse for the fact that he’s the most self-engorged tool in this entire, awful galaxy. Fuck the Milky Way, and fuck the Alternian Empire for colonizing Mars.”

“LOG ENTRY, DAY THREE: Rose has been nothing but splendid to work with. She is polite, alert, and receptive to my critiques. We have not once argued, quarreled, nor bickered. Her intent and astute demeanor make for easy training, and she has quickly mastered the most basic aspects of light. She is now able to manipulate shadows to her bidding, though I was forced to end a brief session of horrorterror communing.

“She appears to have a basic grasp on her intuition, as well. There is a fair amount of restraint, and I think that she will make the ideal candidate for crime reduction force enrollment once she has completed her one year training. That is, of course, assuming that is what she wants to do. I shall counsel her further on this issue. As of now, she has revealed to me her intentions of becoming a writer. Having read some of her work, I must compliment her persuasive and vivid prose.

“Tomorrow, we shall do some more training, then we will have dinner with Karkat. Apparently, his charge is Rose’s cousin. I am unsure of what this means, but it appears that it means that he is her parental inseminator’s hatchling. I have not asked for further clarification on the topic.”

* * *

**Date: Monday, 4 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 10:30**

Dave sits on one of the bare, uncomfortable barstools, which has been placed in the center of the room. His shades have, at Karkat’s insistence, been removed, revealing a pair of eyes that are either hazel or red, depending on lighting. He seems to be exerting little effort, yet the world around him, barring himself and Karkat, is frozen in time. The pendulum on the clock has stopped swinging, and the newscaster on the television is frozen mid-sentence.

“Okay. You’ve mastered the skill of freezing time. Wonderful. That’s the first step. Is this difficult for you to maintain?” asks Karkat.

Dave shakes his head. His hand rises, until it is level with his shoulders. With the palm facing out, and all but his middle and index fingers curled, he touches the outstretched digits to the tip of his thumb. [No.]

“Fucking fast learner, I guess.” Karkat sighs.  _ Exactly what he fucking needs. Another smartass.  _ “I’m going to outline the basic rules of this power, and you should feel free to drop the stasis whenever it becomes too much for you. If you could maybe give me a nod every now and then, to show that you’re understanding what I’m saying, that would be fan-fucking-tastic. Okay?”

[Yes.]

“You and I are not bound to the laws of the stasis due to our inherent genetic makeup. My DNA was slightly altered, somewhat like yours was, so I am now in possession of enough of the time element to resist stasis. That said, time is an uncommon element, and there are, by my own rough estimation, a maximum of three or four piss-stain humans running around with the ability to counteract your time powers. Two of them, according to official records, are dead. Actually. That means there’s two, including you. Congratulations. You’re a mutant.”

Dave winces at the word, though Karkat is too deeply entrenched in his rambling to notice.

“Under the aspect of time, you may freeze time and reverse time, but you may not travel further than the date and time from which you originated. Do you under —?” Karkat’s voice trails off. Sound bursts back into the room. The clock ticks, and the news once again continues to broadcast banal information about the stock market. “Oh.” His monologue trance now broken, Karkat pauses.

He looks to Dave, who is holding his notepad up.

“First of all, you really didn’t need to dig your fucking heel in on the mutant joke. I don’t think it’s funny. Not sure if that’s an alien thing, but, around here, the word isn’t so commonly thrown around. You can’t just kick the word ‘mutant’ around with humans like a fucking soccerball. Secondly, yes. I understand. Are you finished with your monologue yet? You’re loud as hell, and it doesn’t help me understand you any better, it just gives me a fucking migraine.”

For Karkat, there’s a natural inclination to bite back at criticism. It’s not that he thinks he’s always right; he acknowledges that, often, he’s wrong. In his experience, however, things leveled against him are just surface level critiques. Any time he’s received negative feedback, it’s simply been wrapping paper around a core message of degradation for his blood color. Against every fiber of his conscience that says otherwise, he acts on impulse. “It’s a fucking joke, dumbass,” he spits. “You want to know why nobody bothers to stick around to read the shit you have to say? It’s because you’re as spineless as any other human.”

Dave frowns. Without his shades, it’s easier to pin down his feelings through his expressions. His eyes are wider, glassier. There’s the sudden recognition that Karkat’s instinctive defense—the verbal accosting that’s carried him this far in life—has finally backfired, followed by a stifled whimper.

“Shit.” Karkat deflates. His anger and frustration turn to embarrassment, and the feeling gnaws into his very core. He recognizes himself in Dave. The human might be older than him by a year, but, beneath his outer shell, he’s exposed a central vulnerability. “Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just… People have always shat all over me for being a mutant blood, so I assumed that your criticisms were… This sounds really bad, doesn’t it?”

[Yes.] Dave scribbles out a response. The tension in the air is like a weight, pressing against the occupants, stifling them.

“I get it. You’re just here for your credits. We’re not going to be friends, and we’re not going to ever see each other after this year is over. I was briefed on this over and over again, because they must have thought I was fucking stupid. I’m not stupid. I’m not a genius. I’m not going to be the next Albert goddamned Einstein, but that’s a null point. I’m not your trash. I’m used to being ignored. In fact, if you’re just going to shit all over me, keep ignoring me.”

It takes Karkat a minute to read everything. When he has, he chews on his lip. He’s fully cognizant of the fact that he’s dug himself an incredibly deep hole. At the same time, if he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t exactly  _ want  _ to claw himself out. To him, Dave is a symbol of systematic spite. He’s an impossible case, foisted upon him by authority figures who couldn’t care less if he never gets to achieve his goal of opening a restaurant on Earth.

Still, he doesn’t want to use up one of his three minor infraction strikes before the first week has even run its course. “I’ll give you time to cool off, okay? We’ve both gone and said some shit that we didn’t need to. Deal?”

“And you’re expecting that, if you give me this apparent ‘cool down period’, I won’t report you for verbal abuse? Fuck you.”

“Okay. I mean…” Karkat rubs the back of his neck. “That’s fucking fair. I was an absolute jerkass about this, but I’m still figuring this whole thing out. If you want to report me, I guess you can go ahead and do it. That’s completely within your inalienable rights as a volunteer for the program.”

“I didn’t volunteer, I was forced.”

There’s a distinct snarl on Dave’s face when he presents the comment. The air around him buzzes, like static, and the clock on the wall briefly bounces to five minutes in the past before resetting. If Karkat had blinked, he would have missed the change.

“Yeah. You know what? You’re understandably pissed off, and you’re also new to having aspect powers, so I think I’ll just leave you alone for now. I’d rather not get stuck in a time paradox.” With this, Karkat departs. He grabs coat and scurries off, retreating to the relative safety of the nearby McDonald’s.

* * *

**Date: Monday, 4 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Mealworm’s Grub Hut (152 Landing Plaza St., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 19:30**

For Dave Strider, the first friendly face he’s seen in almost two weeks—between all the prodding and testing and prepping—is Rose Lalonde. On a technical level, the two are twins. After their first meeting (following, of course, their separation at birth) about five years ago, they agreed to simply tell people that they’re cousins; it avoids the need to explain a novel’s worth of issues with their familial makeup.

“You’re Rose?” Karkat inquires, studying the woman’s features. His brows are furrowed, and confusion is plainly scribed across his face. “You’re… How the fuck are the two of you related? I always assumed that humans in the same family looked at least somewhat similar.”

“Karkat,” Kanaya, a tall and elegant troll with a somewhat imposing presence, chides. “You cannot just ask people these questions. Never mind my friend, he is not the most polite of people.”

Dave, from his spot in the corner of the booth, offers a loud snort of laughter in response to this comment. He holds his left hand up, so that the palm faces the side of his face and his bent index finger barely touches his cheek. He moves it outwards, diagonally, and touches the top of his crooked finger to his flattened, upward-facing right palm. He does this twice, in quick succession, indicating that it’s an ongoing process. [I’ve noticed] is one way it can be understood, [I’m noticing] is another.

Both Karkat and Kanaya respond to this by looking expectantly at Dave. When it becomes clear that he won’t elucidate the meaning for them, they both look to Rose.

“He said he noticed,” the human woman clarifies. “Yes. In fact, I got a rather interesting text earlier this morning from my dear cousin. Be aware, Karkat, that, as much as Dave drives me up the metaphorical wall, I will not hesitate to make you regret anything you might do to hurt him.” She punctuates her commentary with a friendly smile, though this doesn’t help to dull the defined edge of her commentary.

“Ah. Yes. Karkat, I assume you’ve already received the notification of your first strike.” Kanaya’s tone is as blissfully casual as Rose’s. She smiles, and her black-stained lips part to reveal pointed teeth. “Not that this is what we came to discuss. I simply wanted to make sure that you are aware that you should be a bit more careful in your interactions with your charge.”

“Yeah, I fucking know,” snaps Karkat. “Look, I’m just going to cut straight to the point. Rose, you seem like a reasonable and intelligent woman. Whenever you happen to be free, if you’d like to drop by and translate Dave’s ramblings for me, that would be helpful.”

Rose shrugs. She turns, faces Dave, and engages in a brief gestural discussion with him. Only upon its conclusion does she turn back, to face the two trolls. “Dave has informed me that he would find that helpful, so I shall agree to your terms. That said, my services will not be free. I would like a small compensation of five universal dollars per hour of my time.”

Karkat mumbles something under his breath; his lips move, but Dave is unable to understand what he says. He shakes his head, combs his talon-topped fingers through his hair, and heaves a huge, visible sigh. “Fucking fine. Five UD per hour. I’ll text you times that may be convenient, and you can feel free to let me know which of the provided measurements of solar position work for you.”

“An acceptable trade,” Rose practically sings.

The dinner progresses from this point naturally. Discussions flow easily between the two trolls and Rose, though Dave willingly keeps to himself. From time to time, he and Rose exchange words, but it’s a tense atmosphere. And, perhaps, Dave acknowledges, only he feels the uncomfortable pressure in the air. Every glare from Karkat seems pointed, like a sharpened edge ready to strike. He trusts his newly assigned companion about as much as he’d trust a career criminal, and, seeing as he has generally been one, that’s a low bar.

If this year is really going to be primarily spent with Karkat for the majority of his social company, then Dave has a feeling that it’ll be a prolonged and frustrating ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! if i get any signs wrong, please let me know. i'm also learning!


	4. Getting to Know Your Human Companion, Part III

**Date: Tuesday, 5 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Morning, Roughly 08:45**

The air between Karkat and Dave is nothing if not frigid. There’s no common ground between them, and very little incentive for either to engage in conversation with the other. On Karkat’s end, he knows that it’s his fault. He understands that what he said was beyond rude, but he’s also unaware of how he should go about reconciling his mistake. He supposes, for now, he can start with a basic gesture. He flips through the book he’d checked out of the library, then thumbs through the pages.

“Sorry.” The word is accompanied by a diagram of hand movements. He studies them closely, practices, then makes an attempt.

“Hey. Strider.”

Dave looks up. He pushes his shades up, out of his face and onto the top of his head, before nodding.  _ Go on,  _ he seems to say.

Karkat sighs. He forms a fist with his right hand, and he presses it to his chest. He moves it in a small, clockwise circle a few times. [Sorry.]

The tension seems to only grow. Dave’s eyes narrow. His fingers tap against the kitchen counter, beating out an erratic, percussive pattern. “Hm.” He takes his pen, which he’s clipped to the collar of his solid red sweatshirt, and plays with the top. “Hm…” He flips open his notebook and, to Karkat’s relief, he writes. When he’s done, he slides it across the faux marble.

“Well, you tried. And you got it right. I have to give you some vaguely mad props for that. It’s more than most people have bothered trying. I’m not saying I forgive you, but I guess I’ll talk about whatever you want to talk about.”

When Karkat returns the book, Dave offers him a pencil. Though perplexed, the troll takes it.

“I took off the implants. Fuck those things. All they do is give me a damned headache. Just fucking write.”

Karkat nods. He scribes his reply below Dave’s, noticing the little differences between their handwriting. Whereas Dave’s is more rounded, his is more jagged. He’s used to writing in the more angular Alternian alphabet, and penmanship was never his finest subject in any language.

“I guess that’s about as much as I could ask for, considering the situation. This is weird as fuck, trying to talk to someone without actually speaking. My apologies for the delay. I’m not a handwriting expert, as you apparently are. I realized that I never actually asked you about yourself. So, I guess we should start where I, in all my socially inept glory, should have begun. Hi. My name is Karkat Vantas. I’m an insensitive bastard with the social grace of a brain-dead corpse. Tell me about yourself, Dave.”

For a moment after he’s finished reading, Dave hesitates. The pen hovers over the notepad for a few seconds, and he absentmindedly chews on his lip. Eventually, he seems to gather his thoughts enough to answer.

“Okay. We’re playing that game? Well, then, hi, my name is Dave Strider. I’m a twenty-five-year-old probationer and a verified menace to Skaia society. I blew my new start on booze, got forced into sobriety in prison, and have no income whatsoever. Does that answer satisfy you?”

Karkat smirks. Now that he’s actually talking to Dave, he finds that the man has a defined, dry sense of humor. He’s sarcastic and irreverent.

“You really didn’t want to mention anything else? Not a single fucking thing?”

Dave shrugs. He creates a quick sketch of a raised middle finger, then flips the page.

“If you’re curious, just ask. You’ve already been rude enough.”

The note is accompanied by a level, piercing glare.

For a moment, Karkat breaks eye contact. For a moment, he feels vulnerable. He feels as if Dave’s eyes can bore through him and see to the core of his being, and he’s afraid of what they’d find. He knows his flaws, and he’s always been careful to hide them. The last person he’d ever want to expose his weaknesses to is a human he’s supposed to be in charge of for a whole year. He keeps his gaze averted as he writes, and the courage to once again engage in the eye-to-eye contact, which humans so value, only returns when he slides the notebook to Dave.

“Just tell me what you want to tell me, I guess. I’m not going to get baited into another strike on my record just to satisfy your need to embarrass the living hell out of me.”

To Karkat’s surprise, Dave responds with a small smirk.

“I was born deaf, raised myself in the Deaf community, and only left to escape a long criminal record. If I had to choose, I would have stayed in Houston. I guess the good thing here is that I’m a novelty. There’s nothing really excessively weird about me. We’re on an artificial island just outside of the Arctic Circle, and it’s inhabited by humans and aliens from fucking outer space.”

Karkat nods.

“And you’re fine with all of that?”

Despite the fact that nothing is physically said, the biting sarcasm of Dave’s response screams through the page.

“Well, what the fuck would I do if I wasn’t? Oops. Guess I’ll just go tits-up and die. Hate this world so much that that’s just the fastest solution? Nah. I’m here for spite’s sake. The world pushed me out with a genetic code so thoroughly boned that I’m pretty sure whatever crap your alien researchers did to me actually fixed some of it.”

In spite of himself, Karkat snickers. He hides his smile behind his hand, however, and fakes a yawn. At the same time, an idea hits him.

“Have you ever thought about AR glasses? I have a programmer friend who could whip up a speech recognition program in no time for you. At the very least, it’d make it easier for us to try and exchange meaningful topics of discussion.”

Dave tilts his head to the side. He shrugs.

“I mean, if that’s what would make you more comfortable, sure.”

“I’ll ask about it, then.”

Though Dave's reaction isn’t enthusiastic by any stretch of the word, he offers a thumbs up.

* * *

**Date: Tuesday, 5 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Fresh Dairy Ice Treats (1152 Marigold Way, Skaia Market Area, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Afternoon, Approximately 15:00**

For a reason neither Rose nor Dave has ever understood, eating ice cream when it’s cold outside has always been an activity they’ve enjoyed partaking in together. It’s a near-ritual process, which began when they met as new arrivals in the Alternian colony of Skaia. Rose always orders a double scoop, with strawberry on top and vanilla underneath. Dave always gets a dipped vanilla cone with a cherry on top. They always sit at the third table to the left in the adjacent plaza, and Dave ties the stem of the cherry into a knot, with his tongue, before discussion begins.

With all of this out of the way, however, the two relax. When Rose signs, she props her ice cream upright by placing it in a travel mug. Her motions aren’t as refined as Dave’s, and her expressions are more subdued, but her fluency is undeniable. Though the language doesn’t come as easily to her as it does to her sibling, she clearly has a firm enough grasp on the topic to hold in-depth discussions.

Dave, as he watches her sign, fills in the gaps left by the language. He knows how Rose talks. As he extrapolates meaning from movement, he breathes her tone, which he’s grown familiar with via text, into her words. [Are you still having trouble with Karkat?]

When he signs, Dave doesn’t bother putting away his ice cream cone. He simply adapts to a one-handed style. [If you’re asking if he’s still a bag of dicks, the answer is yes.] In reality, Dave is fully aware of the fact that the same brand of wit that he employs in his writing isn’t perfectly translated into his signing. He knows Rose, though, and he knows that she can easily discern his tone.

It’s a delicate balance between spatial control and facial expression. A wrinkled nose suggests disgust, and a tightly signed word may indicate reservation. He’s come to love the nuance. In fact, he craves it. Every day he spends marooned on the extraterrestrial-dominated island colony only makes him miss his old interactions with his community in Houston even more. Now, being able to re-immerse himself in the language with Rose, he feels at home.

The smirk on Rose’s face only heightens the sense of familiarity. Her shoulders rise slightly; she laughs. It’s a soft, reserved sound. Dave can remember hearing it a few times, muffled beneath layers of electronic feedback and noise. [From what Kanaya has told me, he thinks that the Academy staff paired you as an experiment. Deaf humans are not something that trolls commonly encounter, so they assumed you were a unique case. He seems to believe that, for this reason, they have set both of you up to fail.]

[The faster I fail, the faster I can go the fuck back to Houston without a record.] Dave shrugs. He takes a large bite out of his ice cream, only to immediately regret it. He makes a mental note to remember to see the dentist, though he’s sure he’ll forget to do so. [He’s a douchebag. I don’t care what his reasons are, he’s just a douchebag. He’s fun to get worked up, though. He’s nothing like Bro. He wears his emotions on his sleeve.]

Rose sticks her tongue out a bit as she signs her reply. It’s not a standard procedure, nor is it something that Dave has ever encountered otherwise, but he’s learned to understand it as her unique way of showing sarcasm. [How very mature of you. I commend your incredible level-headedness and adult mannerisms.] A slow clap, tacked onto the end of the statement, emphasizes the message.

Dave pointedly avoids responding to the jab. He spends a few moments working on his ice cream cone, only to provide an answer to an entirely different question. [You and Kanaya seem to like each other.]

Rose points to the right, referencing the topic of the sentence. She holds her hand in front of her face, with the fingers loosely splayed. As she flicks her wrist, moving the hand diagonally downward, she pulls her fingers closer together. She repeats the second motion twice. [She’s  _ very  _ beautiful.] There’s a sheepish, almost shy grin on her face as she makes the comment.

Naturally, Dave jumps on the opportunity to tease her. [Oh?] He grins. He laughs, and his volume draws stares, but neither he nor Rose particularly care. [I thought you said that this was all strictly scientific. Does somebody have a crush?]

Rose scoffs at the suggestion. She playfully pushes Dave’s forearm. [No!] She signs the word a few times, for emphasis. [I’m older than you by an hour, Dave, you’re socially required to listen to me. I  _ do not  _ have a crush!]

[No?] Dave’s smirk only grows.

[No!] affirms Rose.

[Are you sure?]

[Of course I’m sure.] Rose huffs. She folds her arms across her chest.

Dave, in return, breathes a long sigh. [Aw. Come on. Don’t be like that, Rose. I was just shitting around.]

Rose rolls her eyes. The faintest twitch of her lips belays a smile, and she shakes her head as she caves in to Dave’s goading, deigning to offer a reply, [I assure you that, one day, I will kick your ass.]

[I wait for that day with eager patience,] quips Dave.


	5. Training Your Human, Part I

**Date: Wednesday, 6 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Skaia Academy (1 Academy Lane, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Afternoon, Roughly 15:15**

The shades arrive promptly, just as Karkat expected. Sollux has never disappointed him, and his deliveries are always on time. The package is neatly wrapped and set inside of his assigned Academy-owned material transporter. By scanning a subdermal implant in his palm, Karkat pays his half of the “shipping” fee.

They’re different from what Dave currently wears. Though roughly the same shape, the lenses are a bit thicker in depth, and slightly shorter in height. They wrap around the face more closely, forming a slight arc, and a small projector is mounted to each arm. A thin wire connects the shades to a small box, to which a note has been affixed. It is written in Alternian, and the ink is Sollux’s favored shade of olive-tinged yellow.

“I told you the Academy assholes would try and get you kicked out. And you told me I was just being paranoid. Well, who’s laughing now, loser? Whatever. Here’s the shades you wanted. The programming was easy. Just tell your charge to look at whoever he wants to listen to. Text is generated automatically. I only programmed it to work with English. If you want it to translate Alternian, that’ll be extra.”

Dave elbows Karkat. He passes the notebook over.

“I guess they’re close enough to what I have. If this makes you more comfortable, I don’t really care. I’ll just ditch them when all of this bullshit is over.”

Karkat shrugs. He trades the shades for the notepad.

“The directions are to look at whoever you want to listen to. They translate English, but not Alternian.”

By the time Karkat has finished writing the note and given it to Dave, the human male has already slipped the shades on.

Through the slightly more transparent lenses, Karkat sees Dave blink. His hand slips the small box into the inner breast pocket of his tattered denim jacket, and his thumb hits the power switch before he lets it go. Gold-flecked, amber eyes lock onto Karkat, and he gestures for the troll to speak.

“You turned it on? Is it working properly?” As he speaks, Karkat sees the faint outline of the words, projected in white, against the tinted glass. He smirks. At the very least, he’s made his job slightly easier. “Fucking awesome. So, I can just talk to you, now.”

“You could just fucking learn sign language, asshole.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. He decides not to address the side commentary. “So, does this work?”

“I guess. Not my preferred way of talking, but you’re obviously not letting up.”

“Have you ever been in a Simulated Training by User Determination room?” Dave’s snide remarks continue to be ignored. Karkat is set upon training. By the end of the day, he’s to submit video evidence of his progress. He’ll be damned if he can’t at least prove that Dave has figured out how to use a basic aspect of his abilities. He knows that he’s already failed this week’s interpersonal communications unit; demonstrating some sort of growth in any category is his last chance to get a decent first grade.

[No.] Dave shrugs. It’s clear by his posture—the raised brows, tense shoulders, and twitching fingers—that he wishes he could say more, but he remains silent. He doesn’t write, and he rolls the notebook into a loose tube in his left hand.

“Okay.” Karkat slams his mailroom slot door closed. He locks it by scanning his index and middle fingers against the central display, the color of which has changed to red, indicating that it’s empty. “So, basically, it’s a high-tech space that I can manipulate to fill an array of given training parameters. STUD rooms have three settings: movement, terrain, and enemies. I’ll be using the enemy and terrain settings.”

“And what does that mean to me?”

“It means that I’ll be putting you through a basic test. I need to film you using at least a basic version of your powers, so this is the easiest way. According to your profile, you have a bit of a criminal record, so I assume that you know how to fight.” Karkat pauses. He turns on his heel, towards the hall to the north, and begins walking. Before going to the training space, he drops by the armory. The door isn’t immediately apparent when approached. Instead, like every other entryway at the academy, it’s made to blend with the high, arched walls. When he swipes his hand across the access panel, it opens.

“Do you have a preferred weapon?”

Dave nods. From one of the racks, he takes a one-handed shortsword. It’s made of a soft but durable foam-like material. A slider on the crossguard controls the weight, and Dave adjusts it before swinging it around a few times. When he’s satisfied with the results, he spins it between his fingers.

“Is this the weapon you’re going to settle upon utilizing for this?”

“Mhm.” [Yes.]

Karkat leads the pair out of the armory and into the neighboring training room. He approaches the pedestal-shaped control panel, which is situated directly to the entry’s right. After logging into his student account, he sets up the room’s built-in video recording capabilities. From here, he follows the prompts and selects the appropriate settings.

He manages to get as far as the combat mode before a notebook is shoved into his field of vision.

“You fight, don’t you?”

“What?” Karkat sputters. He looks at Dave.

The man is calm and collected. There’s a small smirk on his face, and a cocky slant to the way he’s standing. The blade he had chosen rests, flat side down, against his shoulder. He points to Karkat; then, with his hands forming fists, he crosses his straightened forearms at the wrist. He ends by pointing to himself. Though Karkat doesn’t know the signs, the message is clear, [Fight me.]

“Yeah, and then you’ll run off and report my stupid ass to the authority board. Ha! Like I’d fall for that shit.” Karkat folds his arms across his chest. He shakes his head. “No! No fucking way! I might be a fucking gigantic idiot, but I’m not that stupid.”

Leaning against the control panel, Dave writes his reply directly beneath the last.

“I won’t report you. I just want to see what fighting a troll is like.”

Karkat sighs. On one hand, he supposes that showing off raw, physical power could count for the abilities-based improvement category. If Dave just so happens to use his powers during the fight, that’s simply a bonus. Then again, if he causes Dave any injury, he’s fairly certain that the human is completely unaware of his blood-based powers.

Still, if this is truly what his charge wants, then who is Karkat to deny some old-fashioned anger management?

“Fine.” Karkat pushes the notebook off of the console and onto the floor. He presses his palm against the chip reader on the left side of the control panel, and keeps it in place until a low ding echoes through the room. “If you want to fight, we’ll fight.” He cracks his knuckles and extends his claws.

The ground beneath the pair rumbles. Having selected the map preset, Karkat knows where to go to immediately gain the upper ground. He scrambles to a tile just to the left of the center of the room. He drops low, digging his claws into the sides of the surprisingly soft, sandstone-like material on the sides of the rising pillar.

He waits.  _ Surely, it’ll take Dave at least a few minutes to scale the shifting terrain. _

“Set terrain height reached.” The announcement plays in both English and Alternian. “Next terrain shift will be in five minutes.”

Just as the static of the overhead speakers fades, a blur of movement catches Karkat’s attention. He turns to face it, only to find the full weight of a human male being thrown against him. Both he and his charge tumble from the tallest point, their bodies buffeting against several more platforms before coming to a stop. Whereas Karkat lands on his back, Dave manages to land on his feet.

“Terrain movement will begin in two and a half minutes.”

Karkat scrambles. When his claws dig into the self-healing tiles, they fling bits of rubber-like material into the air. He dodges a heavy, two-handed, downward blow from Dave’s sword. Clearly, he underestimated his opponent. “Mother of fuck.”

As the sword swings again, this time in a horizontal slash, a smirk is visible on Dave’s face.

Karkat ducks behind one of the pillars, wincing as the heavy training weapon digs into the softer material of the platform’s sides. When the next, upward slash comes, he reacts instinctively. He blocks with one hand and throws an uppercut with the other.

Two things register in his mind at once. The first is bright red, which drips from four parallel gashes in Dave’s right arm. The second is the tip of a training sword, which is lightly pressed to his neck.

Dave, either unaware of or unconcerned by the wound, grins. A low snicker escapes him.

If this was a real battle, Karkat would be dead. He may have inflicted damage, but he’d fallen for the trap. In his mind, he puts the pieces together. As the blade swung upward, so, too, had Dave’s free hand. He hadn’t blocked the blade; he’d deflected a punch.

“Fuck,” Karkat says, raising his hands in defeat. “You win.”

A snort of laughter. Dave lowers the sword.

“You’re aware that you’re bleeding, right?” By the time Karkat has asked this, it appears that the only remaining signs of the wound are faint, light scars and streaks of blood between ripped fabric.

The aspect of blood comes as naturally at the powers of time, it seems.

In the back of his head, Karkat prays that the cameras picked up on the healing. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Dave nods. He offers out his hand.  _ “Truce?”  _ he seems to say.

Karkat, after a moment of hesitation, accepts the handshake. “Truce.”

* * *

**Date: Thursday, 7 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Green Hills Park (Skaia Market Area, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Morning, Roughly 06:00**

“Attention, KARKAT VANTAS, this is an official letter from Skaia Academy regarding your diplomatic relations capstone project. This is your FIRST graded report. As per the Academy Board’s determination, and in reference to your submitted video, we have assigned you a grade of 10/10 for your training performance, and a 0/10 for your diplomatic relationship performance. This leaves you with an overall grade of 50%.

“The board HAS decided to provide you feedback on your report.

“While your training appears to exceed expectations, and your charge is performing well in this area, you have already garnered a complaint against you within the first week. This does not reflect well on your record, and we shall be closely monitoring your interactions with your charge from this point forward. For your convenience, we have opted to provide you a summary of the allegations against you from your charge, as per complaint KV413612-1.

“Your charge’s claim was primarily related to verbal abuse and a refusal to accommodate his needs. While we understand that this is a special case, you must be willing to engage with your charge in a way that is comfortable and proper for both of you. An additional complaint, KV413612-1-A, was also filed by an anonymous individual. This complaint corroborated your charge’s allegations, and was the primary reason we accepted such an early disciplinary suggestion.

“We look forward to your continued progress. For the coming week, we have provided an additional handout. We would like for you to continue cultivating your relationship with your charge. We have recommended that, for this week, you and your charge discuss human fashion and clothing. Humans have very interesting ideas of what is and is not appropriate to wear. Some humans are very opinionated about this topic, and may react negatively to ideas that do not conform with theirs. Please be cautious when approaching this subject.

“You will also receive a randomized assignment for this coming week; please check your provided palmhusk. This will be your first of many weekly tasks. You must complete this assignment with your charge, together, and both you and the charge are to submit a written account of your time together. You are also welcome to buddy up and tackle assignments in groups, along with other trolls and their paired human companions.

“Thank you for reading this letter, and please keep it in your folders for later reference — Skaia Academy”

Having read the entirety of the letter, Karkat groans. With great effort, he resists the urge to rip it in half and throw the scraps to the wind.


	6. Human Perspective, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [slides back in, drops a poorly beta'ed update, then crawls away]

**Date: Friday, 8 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Feather Down Pillow (1202 East High Point Drive, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Morning, Roughly 04:30**

For the capital of Skaia, the city is mostly quiet at night. Most jobs end in the early evening, and only the backstage duties of maintenance workers and stock personnel are commonly performed at this hour. The only other sorts of people out past midnight are, of course, the night life. The seedier folk, who deal in drugs and illicit goods.

Feather Down Pillow happens to be one of these places. It’s one of the most well-known and expensive hubs for trading cash for sex, and it’s a place that Dave frequents often. In the five years since he was forcibly relocated to the artificial island nation, he’s built himself a reputation. When he sets down his payment, he doesn’t need to say a word. A woman, clad in fishnet tights and a long pink overcoat, greets him. In appearance, she’s similar to Rose—sharp, yet somehow inexplicably and simultaneously soft features are set against lightly tanned skin. She addresses him with a wide, eager grin.

“Ay! It’s Davey. That’s a face I haven’t seen around here in forever.” The woman’s voice is loud, but not shrill. It draws the attention of a few of the patrons, but none of this bothers Dave. “It’s been over a year, kid, we all assumed you’d just fucked off and died on us.”

Dave smirks. As much as he hates to admit it, he finds himself appreciating his new shades; it’s far easier to read the text than it is to parse what’s being said based on assumptions. For a reason he’s not quite certain of, the text appears bright pink. [I didn’t die, Rox,] he signs, using an affectionate name sign instead of a formal spelling, [I just got abducted by some government dickbags. It’s no big deal.]

“Yeah. I heard.” Roxy shrugs. Having entered the assigned room, she closes and locks the door. She takes a mint from her pocket and pops it into her mouth, then offers one to Dave. After he refuses, she continues, “You’re living it up with one of those troll nerds, right? Weird as fuck seeing you chumming around with the snotty academic types, really. I mean, I know you’ve got brains, but it’s not like you ever seem to bother using them for that sort of stuff.”

[Well, my assigned partner is an asshole. Rose is in lesbian cahoots with her partner.] Dave rolls his eyes. He flops onto the overly soft bed, sinking deep into the worn out coils. It’s warm; it’s been used recently. In the corner of his vision, he sees Roxy taking a seat on the bright pink desk by the entrance. [I mean… On an aesthetic level only, he’s pretty decent. I guess you’d say he’s my type or whatever, but he acts like a man-child with a stick so far up his ass that it comes out the top of his head.]

“Hey, now, I know I’m ten years older than you, but that doesn’t exactly make me your mom, even if you act like I am.” Roxy smirks. She opens one of the desk drawers and rummages through it. After a few minutes, she pulls out a chocolate bar and tosses it to Dave. “So, what? Are you asking for romantic advice or just wondering how to shake this stupid troll? I can help with either, but we  _ do  _ have a time limit, and I’m not sure it’d be enough to explain both ideas.”

[If you didn’t talk so much, maybe we could succinctly explain both concepts,] Dave snarks. It’s a playful jab, made obvious by the small smile on his face. [I don’t know. When do I ever know what I want, Rox? I don’t know shit.]

“Well…” Roxy pulls out her phone. The case is the same shade of pink as the faded, striped wallpaper, and the image of a wide-eyed grey cat is emblazoned over where the logo should be. “What’s his name?”

]K-A-R-K-A-T.] Dave spells the name out. Due in part to their intentionally diminished time together, and to the inherently strained nature of their relationship, he still hasn’t assigned the troll a name sign. As of this moment, he still just refers to him by truncating his name, dropping the vowels along the way, to form KRKT.

After a moment of typing, a cocky smirk spreads across Roxy’s face. “Ah-ha! There’s the bitch. Karkat Vantas. Slated to graduate top of his class in the field of international relations at the  _ prestigious  _ Skaia Academy.” There’s venom in Roxy’s words. Dave understands. He’s seen firsthand the holier-than-thou attitudes of plenty of Skaia Academy graduates. They’re a nightmare to deal with as simple retail managers, so he can’t imagine having to perform any sort of sexual act with one of them. “You know, you could have just Googled the asshole. His profile’s the top hit on Skaia Google. He’s already published a few undergrad papers.”

[On what? How to rub it out while you’re trying to feel important?] A snort of laughter escapes Dave.

“Hm. Actually, the top hit is about the continued blood caste discrimination. Looks like some sort of personal memoir on how mutant blood trolls are still treated like trash.” After a few minutes of scanning the document, Roxy locks the phone. She folds her legs and perches her hands atop her knees. Leaning in, she slightly closes the gap between her and Dave. “I don’t know. His writing makes him sound almost relatable. Aren’t you the one who started coming to me just because you heard I have a Deaf cousin back in New York? I mean, hey, maybe I’m just a little fucked up by all the shit I do, but I think you started showing up just to complain about how nobody ever took  _ you  _ seriously.”

[Oh? So you’re taking his side?] It’s an overly defensive reaction, and Dave knows it. He feels the burning sense of misplaced betrayal in his chest, and he can see his hands shaking as he signs. It’s a knee-jerk instinct of his. He’s used to being belittled and called out.

“I’m not on anyone’s side, Davey. Shit is what it is, I thought I told you that five years ago. You pay me to sit here and act like your mom, and I’ll call it like I see it. Sounds to me like you’re both stubborn idiots.” Using a key on the coiled bracelet on her wrist, Roxy unlocks the door over the right compartment of the desk. She takes out a bag of party flavored Takis. The aroma that fills the room as she pops the bag open is enticing, and she seems to pick up on Dave’s hunger. She snickers. “You want some Takis, you’ve gotta’ talk about this shit like a big boy, Dave.”

“Ugh.” Dave rolls his eyes. [Okay.] His brows are furrowed, and his jaw is set. He understands that this isn’t exactly an issue that he should waste time venting about, especially since he came here for advice, but it feels too damned good to whine about it. Still… [Whatever.] With his palms facing in, and his forearms held so that his hands are angled about forty-five degrees inward, he touches the tips of his little fingers together, moves one down, so that it crosses the other in the middle, and withdraws his hands to reform the starting shape. It’s an insincere gesture, though he usually doesn’t mean it with such spite.

“Great.” Roxy trots over, the metallic heels of her boots audible even to Dave’s diminished hearing, and drops the bag of chips into his lap. Then, with her arms folded loosely across her chest, she sits next to him on the bed. “Have you talked to Rose about this?”

[Of course.]

“And what did she say?”

[She thinks I hate Karkat because Karkat is too similar to me. What a load of bullshit, right? We’re nothing alike. I—]

“I think she’s right.” Roxy taps her finger to her red-stained lips. There’s a knowing smile on her face, one that kneads at Dave’s inner sense of safety. “Look, I don’t think you’ve got to be buddies forever with this Karkat dude, but you’re stuck with him for a year. And—HEY! No!” She laughs and pushes Dave’s rising hands down. “Don’t you start talking over me, Dave. I’m not done. It’s hard as fuck to get kicked out of these programs. So, you’ve got two options. Get along with the guy as much as you can, or waste more money showing up here and whining to me about it.”

[I wouldn’t exactly consider spending time here wasting my money,] Dave shrugs.

“Yeah? Well, I do. You’ve got better shit to do with your cash. Besides, you can always just text me. You only pay to see me when you’re pissed. It doesn’t take Rose’s degree in psychology to notice that.”

There’s a moment in which Dave wants to protest, but it quickly passes. Roxy is right. He groans and combs his fingers through his hair. [Then what do you think I should do to get along with the asshole?]

“Well, your shades are different. I can see the text popping up on them as I talk, so he’s obviously trying to make an effort to not be a massive bag of limp penis. I mean, maybe it’s just me, but I wouldn’t bother trying so hard to talk to someone I absolutely hated.” Roxy pauses, now. She rubs the back of her neck. “On the other hand, his grade depends on you, so…”

[And is that a reason I should act like I like him?]

“Oh. Fuck, no! I’m just saying that. Look, I can’t really say what to do. I don’t know shit about him. You’re the only one who can figure that out.”

[Yeah. Fine.] The answer isn’t what Dave wants to hear. In his heart, he’d hoped that Roxy would agree with him. He’d been seeking affirmation for what he’s been coming to see as a problem he could wiggle his way out of. Still, he takes Roxy’s advice to heart. She’s yet to give him bad advice, so he sees no need to start doubting her. After shoveling another handful of Takis into his mouth, he rolls the bag closed and hands it back to its owner. At the same time, he draws a handful of coupons for free pizzas from his jacket pocket. [I found these for you and the ladies. Have fun with them.]

Roxy clicks her tongue; Dave doesn’t hear it, but he sees it happening. “Did you get these by snatching magazines off of people’s doorsteps again, Davey?”

[You know it.] Dave grins.

“Oh. Well. Thanks, anyhow. We’ll enjoy them.” Roxy sticks the coupons beneath the chip clip she uses to reseal the bag of chips. “So, are you going to become a supernatural cop when you’re all done with this?” Roxy’s knowing, simpering expression shows that she knows what she’s saying.

[Fuck, no! I’d rather be one of those idiots who deep dives to maintain the island platform.] Dave shakes his head. He laughs. It’s a loud sound; he’s been told that. He doesn’t particularly care, at least, right now, he doesn’t. [Maybe I’ll use it to fuck over the lottery system. I’ll get enough cash to buy you and the ladies a nice mansion somewhere that isn’t a fucking extraterrestrial dump.]

“I think we’re fine where we are,” says Roxy, a soft smile crossing her features, “Thanks for the offer, though, Davey. Your time is almost up, by the way.”

After checking his watch, Dave sighs. [Yeah. Fuck.]

“Well, you have my number. You can just text me.”

[I’ll try and do that when the puritanical alien isn’t breathing down my neck, Rox. Promise.] Dave, too, smiles. As much as the responses he’s received tonight are far from what he’d hoped for, he has to admit that he got what he came for. He feels lighter, now. The pent up frustration he’d been allowing to grow has dissipated, until it’s a more bearable droning in the back of his mind.

He returns to the apartment complex with a newfound sense of something that he can’t quite place. It’s either passive resignation or newfound purpose, but exactly which it happens to be is hard to tell.


	7. Training Your Human, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK I GUESS!?

**Date: Saturday, 9 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Skaia Academy (1 Academy Lane, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Morning, Roughly 09:15**

"Dave is.. unsettlingly good at combat, " Kanaya comments. Her brows are furrowed, and a small frown graces her features. "I know that Rose formerly worked as a bouncer for a club around here for some time, but I wonder how Dave acquired his skills."

Karkat shrugs.

Dave steps to the side, dodging a jab from one of Rose's two daggers. He weaves between a double- bladed lunge. When he sees an opening, he takes it. With a gloved hand, he pushes aside one of the daggers as it swipes at him. He swings his own blade, stopping just short of Rose's neck. A small grin graces his features, tapered only by the realization that Rose has her other dagger pressed against his side. The two loosen their stances and lower their weapons.

"I presume this shall be judged as yet another draw?" Rose asks. "It appears to me as if both of us dealt a killing blow at approximately the same moment."

Dave shrugs. He adjusts his shades and runs his fingers through sweat-drenched hair before dropping his blade to sign.

Rose smirks at whatever he says.

Kanaya, who is the acting judge, ponders the scenario for a moment. "I guess it is a fair draw."

"This feels like a waste of time," Karkat grumbles. "These two are evenly matched. They know the other's style too fucking well. This is like watching a dance. We'll just keep getting ties over and over again until we all drop dead."

"Maybe," Kanaya admits. 

Dave offers his own commentary. 

Rose translates. Her voice drops a bit in pitch, which seems to be how she distinguishes her words from Dave's. "Then why don't you fucking fight me, Vantas?"

"We've already tried that."

"Talk to him, not to me," Rose comments, before promptly sliding back into the role of interpreter, "No mercy fight, you and me. What about it?"

Dave leans over and picks up his blade. 

Karkat shrugs. He cracks his knuckles before reluctantly accepting the challenge. "Fine. But let's do it troll style. No weapons."

"I can beat your extraterrestrial ass bare handed. Sure." Though Rose tries to keep her tone neutral, there's a sense of smug pleasure that oozes from this particular comment. 

The two men ready themselves, moving closer to the middle of the large training room. 

Dave shakes his hands and rolls his wrists. 

Karkat extends his claws. 

Kanaya, whose face betrays only a keen interest in the encounter, blows her whistle, signaling that the fight has begun. Behind her, Rose makes a quick hand motion. 

Karkat reacts first. Taking advantage of Dave's need for a visual cue to start, he lunges. He swipes at his opponent, catching skin with his claws on the upward blow. Bright red drips down his fingers, an unsettling reminder of his own mutation. He follows the dirty move with another, ducking low and aiming a punch at Dave's gut. 

The blond is too fast, though. He dodges, not reacting in the slightest to the fresh wound on his arm. He leaps backwards in reaction to another attack, then lands a solid kick to his opponent's stomach.

Karkat reels. He staggers, taking a moment to catch his breath. In this brief moment of weakness, he feels a double axe handle blow to the back. His claws dig into the ground. He growls. He flips over, pushes with his feet, and smirks when Dave stumbles back. He clambers to an upright position and sinks his claws into Dave's side. 

The human doesn't even flinch. Instead, he takes hold of Karkat’s wrist and yanks, pulling his claws out, and then swiftly twisting, until Karkat is forced with his back to Dave's stomach.

Karkat’s world blurs, and he's thrown into an overhead toss. He lands on his upper back, with the human pinning him to the floor. The blood from the still-healing wound on Dave's arm drips onto the troll's face, warm and sticky. After a few moments of being held in this position, Dave releases. 

By the time Karkat has gotten back to his feet and regained his composure, he finds Dave standing a few feet away. "That's it?" Karkat chides. "You could have finished me off. Knocked out a few teeth. You don't want to?"

Dave shrugs. Rose translates, as she has been doing. "I don't feel like it. I've got better shit to do."

Karkat responds with a low hum. Admittedly, he'd expected less of Dave. He'd pinned the man down as someone willing to play dirty. Clearly, and considering that he was wrong, he doesn't know as much about the human as he thought he did. “Huh. Honestly, I thought less of you than that. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll be surprised eventually.” As he finishes signing this, and with Rose about halfway through the interpreting, he lights a cigarette. He puts it between his teeth and bites down, breathing in deeply before he exhales a billowing plume of smoke from his nostrils.

* * *

**Date: Sunday, 10 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 12:45**

“Where did you learn how to fight?” Karkat tries to make smalltalk over breakfast, as he usually does. It’s rarely been successful in the past week and a half, but he figures that it’ll eventually work.

And, it seems that ‘eventually’ is coming sooner than he thought.

Dave looks up. He flips the book closed, takes out his phone, and sends a text message.

“I had a shitty childhood. Fighting was par for the course. I’ve probably gotten some brain cells knocked out. Trolls learn fighting in elementary school, right? Well, I did, too, but it wasn’t exactly part of the curriculum.”

“Yeah. Trolls are all taught how to fight in basic school.” Karkat remembers his lessons well. He excelled in every class but fighting. He still doesn’t know if it’s because he simply doesn’t have the fine coordination and reacting skills, or if he simply doesn’t have the heart to be willing to grievously wound someone. Growing up, he was constantly mocked for being too soft. After seeing how Rose and Dave perform, even though they both know one another, he supposes that there may be truth in the words that were used against him. “Uh… Have you eaten yet?”

Dave gestures to an empty granola bar wrapper, which sits at the top of the almost-full trash can. “Mm-hm.”

When he isn’t aggressively forcing the human concept of masculinity down everyone’s throat, Karkat has to admit that Dave is pretty decent. He can’t exactly say that he’s his favorite person to talk to, but he’s not insufferable. “You don’t want anything more than that?”

[No.]

“Okay.” After finishing his last bite of scrambled eggs, Karkat places his dishes into the sink. He leaves them; he’ll wash them later. For now, he settles into the armchair directly across the table from Dave. He opens his book on sign language and absentmindedly practices a few basic words. [Help.] The troll forms a fist with his left hand, keeping the thumb flat against the side of the hand, and supports the shape with his flattened right against the opposite side, as if holding a heavy mug. He raises this combined hand shape slightly.

Dave, meanwhile, looks on, his head cocked slightly to the side. After the troll has run through a few more signs, he gets up. He drags one of the bar stools over, sets it beside Karkat, and sits. He folds his arms across his chest and eyes the book, nodding, as he speaks, “Keep going.” As usual, the spoken phrase is short, muttered, and soft.

Karkat attempts the sign for “say”.

Dave interenes. “Hand’s too high,” he says; the ‘S’ is barely audible. He demonstrates the sign himself, by tapping his extended index finger twice against the spot just below his lower lip. Afterwards, he looks expectantly at Karkat.

The troll mimics the action. “Okay. Easy enough. The book says this can be a question, too. Turn to page 213 for more information. That’s about as much fucking help as a manual in a language I can’t read.”

“If you want to make it a question, you use facial expression. Lower your eyebrows or kind of open your mouth.”

After reading the text, Karkat nods. “Your speaking isn’t totally terrible, by the way. I’m fully cognizant of the fact that you probably don’t give a single fuck about that, but I feel it’s worth saying.”

“I’d rather not. I don’t like talking.”

The message is succinct. Dave punctuates it with a new sign, one Karkat isn’t familiar with. He holds his hand next to his head, with the palm facing his back. The fingers are curled, but he quickly extends his index finger upward. “Understand,” he clarifies, aloud. After saying this, he rubs his chin.

At this moment, it strikes Karkat that Dave’s face isn’t nearly as hairy as many other human males’ he’s met. The meaning of this eludes him. He’s not a human anatomy expert, and he’s not interested in becoming one. Disregarding his observation, Karkat nods. He understands the message. He’s always understood it, but his curiosity is hard to sate. “Your voice is nice, honestly. It’s higher in pitch than I expected.”

Dave seems to squirm at the commentary. He wrings his hands together before he responds. Behind the slightly more translucent glass of his new shades, Karkat can see that the man isn’t looking at him. When the text is delivered, he turns his head, so that he’s facing away from the troll.

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“Fair enough.” With one warning already under his belt in less than two weeks, Karkat isn’t about to push the issue. Instead, he opens his tablet computer (formerly called a palmhusk, which has since been deemed an archaic and excessively mouthy phrase) and scrolls through the compiled information on Dave, trying his damndest to find something else to talk about. Eventually, after a few more minutes of strained silence, he finds something. “You like animals? Do you have a favorite?”

There’s a pause. Then, after a noncommittal hum, Dave sends a response.

“I love animals. Favorite? No, not really.”

Before Karkat can even think to reply, Dave sends another text.

“Actually, no, scratch that. I really, really fucking like birds. Not in a freaky way, course, but I think they’re neat.”

“Is there a sign language word for that?”

“You can really just call them ‘signs’, dude. But, yeah, duh.”

Dave demonstrates. He holds his hand up to his mouth, offsetting its position a bit to the right. The palm faces outward, and all but his index finger and thumb are curled. Twice, he touches the thumb and forefinger together, like a bird opening and closing its beak.

Karkat attempts to imitate it. From the expression on Dave’s face, he feels like he didn’t get it perfect, but the human isn’t intent on correcting whatever the mistake was. “God, this feels like such a fucking banal thing,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“Tell me about it.”

When Karkat looks to Dave, bewildered by the reply, the man smirks.

“Fine. Flex your shades on me. Is that what humans would say? I’ve heard that slang before. Not that it matters. I’m the one who got those things for you.” Karkat rolls his eyes. For once, he finds that there’s no real animosity in his voice; in fact, he’s actually somewhat enjoying his discussion with Dave.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

After Karkat has read the text, he nods. There's a part of him that wonders if he acted too hastily, if he shouldn't have gotten the glasses before actually asking Dave what he thought, but it's overridden by the party of him that wants a good grade. "You and Rose seem close."

"We hated each other when we first met, or at least I disliked her. It probably wasn't a mutual thing. I guess you could say we're pretty fucking tight. You don't have any siblings?"

"I have an older brother, but we never talk and the last I heard he'd started some religious cult on another of the colonies." Karkat rolls his eyes. Just the thought of his verbose older sibling makes his blood boil. "I'll bet my whole grant that we're legally no contact at this point."

"That's fucking fair."

On Dave's face is an expression of understanding. He pats Karkat on the shoulder as he stands. Then, he passes him by, sending another text as he walks towards the door. 

"I'm going to go wander around the city for a while. There's nothing we need to do today. I'll be back in time for you to do whatever dopey training regimen is prescribed for the day."


	8. Getting to Know Your Human Companion, Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with, like, zero beta work.

**Date: Monday, 11 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Landing Plaza, Portside, Skaia City** **  
** **Time: 14:45**

The ground beneath Dave’s feet thrums with energy, pulsing like a heartbeat, as the third shuttle of the day touches down. It’s obviously an Alternian model; for as far as they’ve come under the tutelage of the Alternians, humans have still yet to perfect the vertical landing jets that the extraterrestrials specialize in. The cockpit is made of bulletproof glass, tinted golden yellow, with a matching stripe running down the side.

As a child, Dave remembers watching these crafts passing over the Houston skyline from time to time. They’re always the same basic shape and makeup. At two corners of the triangular bodies sit rotating propulsion engines, which can pivot to push the vessel in any direction. Their color corresponds to their function. Red is for hazardous materials. Green corresponds to organic materials, such as crops or livestock. Grey vehicles are used for express postal deliveries; yellow, for commercial airline commuters.

When the shuttle finally touches down, the ground shakes, shifting slightly. The wide doors on opposing sides of the craft fall open, and a throng of trolls pour forth. Humans rarely arrive in Alternia by air; like Dave, they come by sea. (It’s a long, claustrophobic journey. People are usually packed into decades old passenger vessels, often reclaimed from discarded military naval stock of human governments.) Every dozen or so trolls, the crowd is momentarily stopped, allowing for the last group to disperse neatly. (For humans, especially so-called “prisoner bargain” populations, such as Dave’s arriving lot, they are simply turned loose all at once after customs reviews the records.)

“Now arriving: Vessel RU-0198. Russian flight. Origins: Udachny, Sakha Republic, Russia.” The text, projected against the overcast sky, appears in flickering red. It stays in place for a few minutes, then fades as the last few trolls trundle off of the aircraft.

A hand rests on Dave’s shoulder.

He jumps. Instinct draws his hand from his pocket, and he swings. The full force of a vicious right-handed uppercut, propelled by the twisting of his body, slams into the face of Karkat Vantas. As the troll cups his hands over his nose, and bright red leaks into his palms, Dave pauses. He cocks his head to the side.

_ “Strange,”  _ he thinks,  _ “I would have sworn that Karkat said he was staying at the apartment.” _

“Asshole!” Karkat’s words appear in grey capital letters. “What the fuck was that for?”

Dave forms a fist and presses it to his chest. He moves in a few counter-clockwise motions. [Sorry.]

“Sorry!? SORRY!?” Karkat fumes. His brows furrow, and his fingers curl into fists. “You goddamned  _ idiot _ . I—!” He breathes out, and his nostrils flare. After a few seconds of visible huffing and tapping his claws together, he shakes his head. He sighs. “Ugh.” When he wipes his bloodied hand on his light grey sweater, it leaves a bright red smear. The blood seems to glow; Dave isn’t sure if this is a light trick or some sort of alien trait. “Fine. Fine! It’s on me. Look at me, Karkat Vantas, certified fucking shit-for-brains. I shouldn’t have just popped up behind you, I guess.”

[Yes.] Dave accompanies the sign with a nod. He clears his throat, which brings up the unpleasant taste of wintertime cold-induced phlegm; he grimaces. There’s a tickle in the back of his throat and, instead of coughing, he sneezes.

Karkat steps back.

[Sorry.]

“We’re up to two apologies, assholes, just get your shit together.” Sharpened claws run through wiry hair. Each breath rises from Karkat’s nostrils as spiralling puffs of condensation. “Today’s assignment is to go shopping for some clothes. We’re apparently supposed to be learning about  _ cross-species fashion standards _ ,” he emphasizes his words with air quotes. “I think it’s supposed to be a bonding activity. I don’t fucking know.”

Dave smirks. He spreads the fingers of his right hand, presses the tip of the thumb to his chest, and wiggles his fingers. [Cool.]

“Don’t know that one.” Karkat turns. His left hand holds a handkerchief to his nose, while his right hand buries itself in the pocket of his jeans.

“Cool.” The word feels awkward and heavy in Dave’s mouth; most do. It’s not that he feels self-conscious about his voice. He’s been done with that runaround for a while. He just simply never cared to ever finish his speech lessons, and he doesn’t exactly care to perfect that particular skill. “It means ‘cool’.”

Karkat pulls his hand from his pocket long enough to fingerspell. [C-O-O-L.] The rate of oozing red into the handkerchief is beginning to slow. He points his straightened index finger slightly towards Dave, then bends it, forming an ‘X’ handshape. It’s an unorthodox way to signal a question. Considering Karkat’s near-zero grasp of facial inflexion, however, it’s the easiest way to indicate that the statement is an inquiry.

“Yeah.” Dave smirks. In retrospect, the last person he can remember teaching sign language to is John, and that had to have been twenty years ago. He’d love to contact him, but he’s yet to work up the guts to do so. No, after the fiasco of their last meeting… “You’re learning,” he says, suddenly, in a bid to distract himself.

“Am I?” Despite having just demonstrated this fact, Karkat looks surprised. “Huh? Well, I guess that’s really fucking nice. I’m trying. It’s not a concept that trolls are intimately familiar with. We’re better at things like insulting one another relentlessly and goring things.”

From Dave, a nod. Trolls have always had a reputation for being violent and irritable. While Karkat definitely checks off the latter box, there’s not exactly much evidence for him filling in the archetypal murderous alien field. In fact, if the nubby-horned troll was a circle, and murderous intent was a marker, Dave is fairly certain that the ink would run out before the shape was even filled in a quarter of the way.

“So, what? Do you have any concept of the sort of things you’d be interested in buying?”

After a moment of thought, Dave shrugs. [No.] He draws the shape of a hat on his head, then offers a blasé shrug. It’s not sign language, but it’s enough to get the message across.

Silence.

After a few blocks, Karkat leads Dave into an upscale clothing store. From what Dave understands, trolls don’t have singular themed stores. Instead, their stores tend to be large, centrally located, and stocked with pretty much every possible style. Essentially, they’re corporate versions of a marketplace.

“Well, we know you want a hat,” Karkat mumbles. After a moment of hesitation, he finally puts away the bloodied handkerchief. His nose seemed to have stopped bleeding about two blocks ago, but he’d kept it in place, anyhow. He gestures to a solid black cowboy hat, creased in the central Carlsbad style, and accented with a bright red band.

[Yes.] The response is eager, and acquisition is immediate.

“Okay. Great. Please fucking tell me that that isn’t some sort of outlandish, gaudy price.”

Dave pauses. Until now, he hadn’t even thought of the monetary value. He’s never given these sort of things much thought. When he needed food, he’d take it. He’s worn the same rotating wardrobe of clothes—most of them foisted upon him by Rose—for the past few years. Removing the hat, he, too, prays that it isn’t expensive. It’s rare that he springs for any sort of material possessions. Thankfully, after a moment of study, he smiles. “Twenty UD.”

“Twenty?” Karkat asks, aloud.

“Mm-hm.”

“Great.” Karkat snatches the hat and drops it into the empty cart. “You’re not really much of a fashion person, are you?”

Dave’s brows furrow. Until now, he’d been avoiding using the notepad. However, at this point, he’s forced to. Taking a pen from his breast pocket, he scribbles out a quick response.

“I assume you’re saying I don’t dress like everyone else. I just wear what I have. I don’t really give a fuck about what I wear. If I really need something different, like for some sort of big hooblah formal bullshit, I just rent it. Or take it.”

There’s a moment of bared teeth, during which Dave assumes Karkat growls. Then, after rolling his eyes and returning the notepad, the troll responds, “Well, that sure as fuck illuminates for us why you ended up here. Why don’t you just scream to the class that you’re the opposite of a law-abiding citizen, Strider?”

“I obey the laws that are important. I don’t see much importance in lining the pockets of already rich people with money that I frankly don’t have, you feel?”

Karkat frowns. He rubs the back of his neck, gnaws on his lip, and shakes his head. “Whatever. Just… Don’t blow all of my goddamned money on this shit. I’m not exactly a walking bank account. I mean, I  _ am _ , but the exact account we’re discussing is empty.”

[Okay.] Dave nods. He returns the notebook to the inner pocket of his tattered denim jacket. [I’ll try.]

“Oh. You’ll  _ try _ ? What a fucking reassuring statement.” Karkat groans, the exasperation clearly written on his face.

* * *

**Date: Monday, 11 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 23:30**

[YOU WHAT!?] Dave’s commentary is delivered with a bug-eyed, mouth-agape look. Even after signing his statement, he has to take a moment to recover from the gravity of the situation. [Rose, you can’t do that! I mean… I guess you  _ can _ , but I don’t think it’s exactly recommended.]

Seated on one of the outside steps, and overlooking the city, Rose snickers. [I kissed Kanaya.] There's a slight rouge coloring her cheeks, and her smile stretches wide. [Well, she kissed me. You know, of course, I would simply let her lead the relationship.]

[Relationship?] Dave mirrors Karkat’s motions from before, pointing to Rose and then forming an 'X' handshape. It makes the statement more sarcastic, more biting. [You've known each other for ten days, for fuck sake! What the fuck are you already eating face for?]

[Well,] Muses Rose, [I do feel that we are simply quite compatible. We are very similar and also have amicable relations. Anyhow, you seem to already hate Karkat, and you've only known him for the same amount of time.]

Dave frowns. He rolls an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He doesn't smoke when Rose is around; he knows it bothers her. [No. I don't hate him, exactly. We're not making out, but he's okay when he's not being an asshole.]

[Oh, so like you?] Rose jabs her elbow into Dave's side.

The man scoffs. [I'm offended by that! I'm not nearly as loud as he is!]

[You rarely speak, so I must proclaim that you're cheating in this competition. That said, if you _ were _ to speak more frequently, I'd think you'd be every bit as obnoxious as Karkat.] The smirk on Rose's face grows. [Put that thing away. You can smoke when I'm out of your cancer cloud's range.]

Dave groans, but he complies. He pockets the cigarette. [Fine. It’s gone. Happy?]

[Very.] Rose nods. She pops open a bottle of lemonade and offers it to her twin. [You have any idea what you're going to do when this is over?]

[I'm out of here. I'm going back to Houston.] Dave shakes his head. [Fuck this place. I'm going back home.]

[But is that place really your home, now? Our father is dead as a rusted door nail. If I understand correctly, they even knocked the old apartment complex to make way for some sort of Alternian diplomatic headquarters building.] To prove this claim, Rose opens her phone. She types in the appropriate address, then shows Dave.

Sure enough, where there was once a high rise apartment complex, there is now a gaudy Alternian style government building.

[Doesn't matter to me.] Dave lies. [I just don't want to stay here.]

[Your choice.] Rose shrugs. After rising to her feet and dusting off the back of her skirt, she pats Dave on the head. [Good night.] She doesn't wait for a reply; instead, she immediately departs.

The second Dave hears the apartment door closing, he lights his cigarette.


	9. Human Conflict Resolution, Part I

**Date: Tuesday, 12 January 2055** **  
** **Location: STUD Room 04, Skaia Academy (1 Academy Lane, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Morning, 09:15**

Karkat Vantas stands on the viewing platform, watching intently as his charge battles the automatically generated robotic combatants. As he's observed before, there's fluidity in Dave's motions. These are learned and practiced routines, strung together with flourishing slices and powerful jabs. There's a subtle sense of style beneath the erratic mishmash of various martial arts.

Dave prefers control over power. When he can manage to pull off a bit of style, he does, but he plays things safe. He doesn't go all-in until he knows he'll land the hit. He stays light on his feet and quick to draw his blade. He's experienced. He's good, but a sword will never beat a gun.

"FUCK!" exclaims Dave. The bright blue on his shirt indicates that he's been hit by one of the training unit's projectiles. It's enough to throw him off long enough to be pinned against one of the simulated alley walls.

"Injury detected. Simulation ending."

_“Strange,”_ Karkat thinks, _“That hit wasn’t nearly enough to cause any damage.”_

The attacking robots retreat, and the terrain begins to reset. Freed from the weight of the artificial assailant, Dave stumbles forward. The faint, shimmering gleam of healing wounds shines through rips in the fabric of his dirtied red sweatshirt. He takes a few shuffling steps forward, then falls to his knees.

Karkat scrambles. “Humans are so fucking soft,” he grumbles, mostly to himself. “You can’t blink at them without breaking one of their plethora of inadequately shielded osseous bodily supports.” From his pocket, he draws a small tube of healing paste. While it’s made for Alternians, he’s been very much reassured that it also works on humans. (Just not quite as well or as quickly…)

By the time Karkat is at Dave’s side, the man has stumbled back to his feet. He’s hunched over, with one arm wrapped around his lower chest, and the other busy trying to sign something that Karkat has no hope of understanding. When he realizes that his message isn’t getting through, the human, his voice laden with pure exasperation, speaks up. “Broke a rib,” he mumbles, his voice only slightly louder than a standard murmur. He says something else, but Karkat can’t parse it.

Karkat doesn’t bother trying to understand. Instead, he reaches out and tugs on Dave’s sweatshirt.

The man protests. “HEY!” he yelps, grabbing wildly at the troll’s wrists, “THE FUCK!?” For the first time since Karkat has met Dave, his voice is slightly above the average speaking level of every other human. There’s a coarse, almost painful-sounding hoarseness to it, as if it’s never been used in such a capacity. Despite facial expressions indicative of pain, he struggles against his appointed tutor’s grip. “Get your fuckin’ hands off ‘f me.” His words blur together more with every passing second.

“Dammit, Strider, I’m trying to help,” Karkat spits back. “Just let me—”

“Then let me do it,” snaps Dave. After kneeing Karkat in the stomach, he breaks free. He spends the next few seconds clutching at his tattered sweatshirt, the sides of which are now marred by four near-parallel claw rips. It almost seems as if he’s mourning the loss of the clothing before he finally turns around and hesitantly peels it off.

The first thing Karkat notices is the array of scars on the man’s body. A massive, ragged-edged slice runs horizontally across his back, the thickness comparable to the width of a human finger. When Dave turns around, his front is no different. A straight-edged, horizontal scar runs across each breast, and another massive gash has healed in the center of his body, which runs near-vertically down his center. A tattooed prisoner barcode on his right bicep is bisected by an old stab wound.

The second thing Karkat notices is the way the man is standing—guarded, wary, and fearful.

“I’m not going to hurt you, dumbass,” Karkat attempts to reassure the human. He’s aware of how poorly he’s doing in this particular area. He can see the forming bruise, just below the scar on Dave’s right breast. After popping the cap off of the tube of healing paste, he applies a liberal amount to his hand. When he touches Dave, the man winces, but he doesn’t fight. “There,” Karkat declares upon completion, “I’m done. That wasn’t so fucking awful, now, was it?”

Dave shrugs. He quickly replaces his sweatshirt. From the pocket, he takes out a thoroughly crumpled notepad and a pencil.

“Look, I don’t know how trolls do it, but humans don’t just go around ripping each other’s clothes off. It’s fucking rude and—”

He flips to the next page once it’s indicated for him to do so.

“—nobody fucking does that, dude. You promise me you won’t tell a fucking soul what you just saw, right? I mean, you won’t just have me on your ass, you’ll also have Rose.”

“Well, fuck,” Karkat says as he burrows his hands into his pockets. “As much as I’m afraid of Rose, I really don’t know what you’re so fucking edgy about with this. Considering that you were locked up before now, I’d kind of expect you to have a few scars. That’s par for the course in prisons, human or troll.”

Dave blinks. Slowly, he lowers his notebook. A look—a cross between relief and confusion—washes over his face. It fades slowly, like a lazy tide returning to the sea. He taps the fingers of his right hand to his lips, then moves the hand outward, at the elbow, until the back touches the upward-facing palm of his left hand. [Good.]

* * *

**Date: Wednesday, 13 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Ebony Clothiers (8132 East Lombardi Avenue, Lower Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Afternoon, approximately 13:30**

Kanaya isn’t exactly keen on Dave Strider. It’s not as if she hates the man; she barely knows him. At the bare minimum, he’s somewhat polite and he’s not nearly abrasive as Karkat. Is this because he rarely opens his mouth to speak, opting, instead, to use a language that so few people in this particular corner of the planet know? Probably. Still, he’s tolerable. He also happens to know about Rose, being that he is apparently her twin brother, and that means he’s probably a good person to ask for advice.

“Are you enjoying those new solar-filtering optical devices that Karkat gave you?” Kanaya asks, in a desperate attempt to end the past twenty minutes of awkward silence. Looking into the mirror, she holds up a bright red strapless dress. _“It’s pretty,”_ she admits to herself, _“But it’s not quite what I’m looking for.”_

“Eeeh.” Dave wiggles his hand. It’s a motion that Kanaya has seen before in human films, often used to indicate indifference. “Ah guess so.” His voice is thick with an accent Kanaya can’t quite place, but there’s a definite hint of a southern twang. His pronunciation is awkward; his intonation is near-absent; and his prosody, uneven. Having been only average in human language classes, it takes Kanaya a fair bit of effort to understand him. Of course, when she actually _needs_ to discuss something important and lengthy with him, he doesn’t have a notebook. (And, certainly, she’s not going to send these sorts of things through the university-provided palmhusks.)

“Well, that’s lovely.” Kanaya purses her lips. Another failed line of conversation. “I… Oh. This is pointless. Fuck. What sort of things does Rose like?”

Dave shrugs. He mimes the act of knitting.

“Knitting?” Kanaya responds with a thoughtful hum. “Would it be reasonable to say that she’d like a gift of new knitting needles, then?”

“Guess.” For a brief second, Dave removes his shades. He wipes them on his shirt, squinting the whole time, as if blinded by the buzzing fluorescent lights. “She migh’,” he concludes, dropping a consonant.

“Were those statements or questions?”

“Statement.” Another soft consonant fails to be vocalized.

“Mm-hm.” In the back of her mind, Kanaya wonders how Karkat deals with this sort of thing all day. “Anything else that she enjoys? Foods or clothes?”

“Ask ‘er.” Again, Dave shrugs. He takes a coin from his pocket and rolls it along his knuckles. “Ah ain’t ‘er mom.”

“Helpful,” Kanaya deadpans. She breathes a long, deep sigh. “Well, this is going absolutely nowhere. I would have been better off asking my own mirror.”

* * *

**Date: Wednesday, 13 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Gamble’s Pizzeria (2210 Bleatbeast Drive, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Afternoon, approximately 13:30**

“You really brought me all the way here to ask me about Dave, yet you are quite insistent upon the fact that you harbor exactly zero positive feelings for him,” Rose says. She dabs her paper napkin against a grease spot on the scratch-covered plywood table. When the edge of the napkin catches on an upward-jutting splinter in the plastic faux hardwood cover, the whole thing rips. She shrugs and tosses the used paper onto the stack of dirty plates. “Surely, you must be aware of the reasons for my skepticism.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fucking aware. My lookstubs are as open as they can be to this issue. That isn’t the question I’m posing, though. My question is exactly what the fuck is Dave’s whole _‘deal’_ , as you humans put it.” Air quotes emphasize Karkat’s words. “He’s wound tighter than a high tension spring, and nothing I ever say seems to keep him from acting like I’m going to beat the shit out of him at any given moment. You seem to be more aware than most of the makeup of human thinkpans, so I’m coming to you for advice. Could you kindly _not_ speak in obtuse riddles for _ten fucking minutes_ and enlighten me, or do you want me to fall to my knees and beg?”

“That second option is quite nice,” Rose smirks. She taps her fingers, the nails of which are painted pastel lilac, against the table. Somehow, the clicking aligns with Karkat’s heartbeat. “I, however, am not Dave. I have neither the authority nor the moral ineptitude to tell you things which concern only him. The information you seek is not mine to divulge. Do you understand that?”

“And do you understand how _absolutely fucking ludicrous_ it is to think that he would ever tell me jack shit about himself?” Karkat snaps. “Look, I need a good grade. I’ll admit it upfront. Fuck actual social bonds. I need a good grade, because I need to spit in the face of the system that has so diligently set me up to fall flat on my ass.”

“That’s a very poor reason to want to know this information, and it has not at all swayed my positioning on this matter.” Rose takes a sip from her half-finished, slowly melting milkshake. “I extend my sympathies to you, though. I’m sure Dave knows the feeling well.”

Though the comment causes Karkat to briefly pause, his innate stubbornness overrides the small realization. “What you're saying is that you won’t tell me anything?”

Rose frowns. She considers something, her thoughts unknown to the troll. ( _“Oh, to be a psionic,”_ Karkat mentally bemoans.) She reaches up, pulls her headband from her hair, and runs her fingers through the strands of golden blond. With her hair down, Karkat can see the similarities between her and Dave. Their faces have shapes so similar that they’d be near-identical, if not for the more angular details of Dave’s. Their eyes have the same, slightly almond-like shape. Aside from a tiny number of contrasts, they’re perfectly matched.

“Well?” Karkat presses.

“Well,” quips Rose. “I’ll tell you that you and Dave are more similar than you think.”

“Again with the cryptic bullshit. I—”

“Listen here, Karkat Vantas,” snaps Rose, her voice rising in volume to overpower Karkat’s, “I have absolutely zero qualms about ending your existence should you hurt Dave. He’s far too soft to do such a thing, but rest assured that I am not. Whatever information you may desire about him should come from him, not me.”

“But you know the information?”

Rose scoffs. “Oh. Of _fucking_ course I know it,” she rolls her eyes. “We’re _twins_.”

“And you won’t tell me?”

The look Rose gives Karkat is chilling. It’s hard, unyielding, and prying. “No. I will not.” Two separate sentences are punctuated by an icy silence. Though it lasts only a few seconds, it seems to stretch into an eternity. Clearly, Karkat’s fear of Rose was perfectly founded. “Dave has plenty of reasons to choose the life path he’s wandered down, and which I’m more than certain he’ll never deviate from. Is it painful to watch my own twin brother destroy himself in a cycle of poor choices, having clawed my own way out? Yes. And that is exactly why you’ll hear nothing from me that isn’t my information to freely give. The things you wish to know about Dave aren’t some trivia flashcards for your little class. They’re traumas that belong to him, and him alone.”

Karkat breathes in.

Rose, again, interjects. She finishes off her milkshake, offers a hollow smile, and rises to her feet. “Thank you very much for lunch, Karkat,” she says, her voice showing no hint of emotion. From her pocket, she takes a few loose paper bills of universal dollars. As she tosses them onto the table, she concludes her commentary, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. No doubt to translate, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made the stylistic choice to vary how i write dave's speech depending on who's listening. since kanaya isn't as familiar with him, it's more onomatopoetic than usual. thanks for reading, as usual. feedback is always welcome!


	10. Human Perspective, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for alcohol use, references to drugs, and past abuse.

**Date: Tuesday, 19 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Alternian Diplomatic Study Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 11:30**

The air between Dave and Karkat hasn’t cleared at all since Rose’s refusal to divulge any information. In fact, if anything, after Rose told Dave about her lunch with the appointed tutor, Dave has done his best to avoid spending any more time with his troll guardian than he has to.

Today, he’d planned to flee to the safety of Broken Glass Corner, a dive bar that he’s thoroughly enjoyed hanging out at for the past few days. Luck doesn’t happen to be on his side, though, because the place is closed for the week after a grill fire.

So, he finds himself back in the apartment, doing his best to ignore Karkat.

A tap on the shoulder. Dave is becoming more accustomed to the interaction. Before, any touch immediately set him into attack mode. Now, he tolerates it; he doesn’t like it much, but it’s the only real way for Karkat to get his attention.

He looks to Karkat. His hands are held out in front of him. The palms face up, and his arms are bent. Twisting at the elbow, he spreads his hands apart from one another slightly. It’s a classic sign, one that anyone can understand the meaning of, especially given the look of perplexed annoyance on his face. [What?]

“Hey.” Karkat tries to force a smile. He offers Dave a can of shitty beer, which the human hesitantly accepts. (It’s not anything as bad as Keystone, but Grubland Brewery always leaves the taste of piss in Dave’s mouth.) The troll pulls a barstool around, so that it’s across from where Dave is sitting, at the kitchen island. “So… uh… Fuck.”

Dave raises a brow.

Karkat kneads his claws against the side of the counter, no doubt adding to the plethora of preexisting scratch marks. “Look, I should fucking apologize. I’ve been a massive, throbbing dick about all of this. And I don’t really mean to be, alright? I just… You know that trolls bleed different colors, right?”

Dave nods.

Despite the apprehension clearly upon his face, Karkat continues, “Well, mine is just fucked up. Nobody is supposed to bleed candy red. Maybe humans do, but trolls don’t. So, basically, I’m a freak. I know I’ve said this before, but the nitty gritty of all the bullshit to do with it is that nobody ever expects me to do anything. You understand?”

Another nod.

“This class is basically me laughing in the face of society. It’s a blaring middle finger to the establishment, one that means a whole lot to me. I know letting other people’s judgement of you affect your mental health isn’t exactly healthy,  _ per se _ , but it’s only natural. I guess, since you’re not the average human, I’ve been projecting all my stupid bullshit onto you. I’ve seen you as a rival, someone who’s been sent just to take a steaming, putrid dump on everything I’ve worked for. What’s a better way to make sure the troll we all hate fails his diplomacy course than sticking him with a human partner who barely speaks and can’t hear, right? That… sounded worse than I thought it would…” As the troll’s voice trails off, Dave finds himself feeling something akin to sympathy.

If what’s being said is the truth, and the bumbling way that it all flows from Karkat’s lips seems to indicate that it absolutely is, then Dave can relate. He’s never really had anyone but Rose actually invest anything in him. Why should they? He fought his way through school, hid any hint of intellect he had, and allowed himself to comfortably scratch by in every class he ever took. Any success he saw was perceived as a slight against his father.

Karkat breathes in. “The long and short of all of this dancing around the bullshit is, essentially, I’m sorry. I know that I’ve treated you like shit, and I’m deeply, truly sorry. I know we’ll probably never see each other after all of this is over, but the least I can do is make it less insufferable for you, right?”

Dave shrugs. As much as he can relate, he remains skeptical. He’s aware that, in all likelihood, he’ll never be more than a grade to Karkat. Still, he accepts the troll’s outstretched hand. He takes his notepad out, writes a reply, and slides it across the countertop.

“I get it. I don’t think we’ll ever be buddies, but we can at least tolerate each other. Nobody ever gave much of a shit about me, either. I was just ‘that problem kid’. Everyone still thinks of me as that. I’m not really much use to most people, so they just don’t bother with me. At the very least, I’m useful to you, so you’re forced to give a fuck about me.”

“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Karkat mumbles, looking more than a bit perplexed. “That’s an incredibly shallow way of thinking about it, but I suppose it works.”

“Feeling like someone actually gives a fuck about me just isn’t something I understand, dude. Sorry. You can admit that I’m a grade to you. That’s fine. I expect it. My value is only as far as someone can stretch their dollar. I’m a pill pusher, a booze smuggler. Someone to rough someone else up for a few dollars, right?”

“Tell me about it.” To Dave’s surprise, Karkat seems to be in agreement. “Nobody ever talked to me in class unless it was to clarify some bullshit that they didn’t understand. I’m just that person people come to for advice and tutoring. Nobody really bothers asking me about anything other than those two things.”

Dave forms a ‘Y’ handshape, similar to the universal symbol for hanging loose. He points his thumb at himself, and his little finger towards Karkat, then rocks his hand back and forth at the wrist. [Same.]

“Where did you learn to fight?”

Spurred by the troll’s candid admission, Dave lets some of his guard down. As has been said multiple times, he doubts he’ll see Karkat again after the year is over. He plans on escaping the artificial island at the first possible opportunity.

“My father was a piece of shit. He made me learn to fight, claiming that it would help save me from the apocalypse. I guess it prepared me to absolutely bone my life to hell and back, but that’s about it. I taught myself; he didn’t teach me shit.”

Karkat, strangely enough, looks horrified. “Your own  _ guardian  _ made you fight him?”

“Yeah. Real swords, too.”

Dave shrugs. While time has taught him that this is far from normal, it’s his reality. He has better things to do than cry over his own life. He polishes off the rest of the shitty beer he’d been provided, then looks quizzically towards the troll. [What?]

“That’s fucked up,” Karkat says, clearly at a loss for words.

[Yeah.]

“And what am I going to do about it? Cry? I can’t turn back the clock and undo my whole childhood. You learn to deal with it. Or, hey, considering my trips to rehab, maybe you just learn how to forget about it the best you can. Life’s a cruel bitch. I can’t do shit about it, and I don’t really want to.”

“Really?” While Dave can’t hear his voice, he imagines that Karkat is more than a bit skeptical.

[Yes.]

“Sometimes, I wonder what could have been. Who wouldn’t? What if I hadn’t been used as a walking punching bag as a kid? What if I had a family, and not some goddamned deranged bastard lording his physical power over me at every waking minute of my godforsaken fucking life? Would I have been less of a failure? You can keep ouroboros-ing yourself all over that shit for years, and I did. Trust me, I fucking did. And did it solve anything? No. It gave me a bad liver and so much anxiety that the mere thought of getting me as a patient makes psychologists wet themselves.”

Karkat’s frown only deepens as he reads. “You really don’t have any family?”

“Rose is the last family I have left. I’m the last family she has left. My dad shot himself up with whatever he could find, then met the business end of the bus when I was thirteen. My mom apparently disappeared when I was fifteen. I couldn’t give less of a fuck if I ever meet the woman. Whoopie, she gave me life, then she abandoned me with a perpetually doped up asshole with a god complex for my whole life.”

While Karkat is busy with the latest note, Dave wanders to the nearby fridge. He takes out another beer. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have accepted the first one. He’s by no means a believer in the teetotaler approach, but right now definitely wasn’t the best time to accept his first alcoholic beverage in two years. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

“My parents died years ago, too,” Karkat admits. “I actually cared about them, though, so…”

[Sorry.] Dave means what he says. He’s always had a fondness for seeing functional families. He’s never understood why, nor has he been able to tell if what he feels is happiness or jealousy. Is the concept of people who love one another something that brings him joy, or does he simply envy it so much that he’s tricked himself into enjoying it? Whatever the case may be, he knows the pain of loss. When his father had died, he’d harbored a twisted sense of love for him.

With both index fingers pointed, Dave holds his hands at chest level. The palms face inward, toward one another. When he begins, both fingers point slightly outward; the right hand doesn’t move. Rotating at the wrist, Dave draws a small, clockwise circle with the tip of his left finger, ending with it gently touching the edge of the right index finger. His furrowed brows indicate a question. [When?]

“I don’t know that sign,” Karkat says. He pulls his tablet computer out and opens a notepad application. He draws a quick, somewhat crude likeness of the motion, using arrows for movement.

[W-H-E-N.] Dave spells the word out; he doesn’t feel like speaking much right now.

“When.” Karkat parrots. “Ten years ago, I guess. I was young. They were on vacation to this colony, and the return shuttle hit some space junk. The Galactic Transporter EA-AR-314 incident. Everyone died, including them.” The words are spoken coldly. This is a stated fact, something that Karkat has clearly detached himself from. Nonetheless, despite the stoic expression on his face, his eyes remain glued to his tablet. He wrings his hands together.

[Sorry,] repeats Dave.

“I guess I misjudged you, too. I’m not used to people bothering with me, so I just assumed malice. My bad.”

“Oh,” scoffs Karkat, with a small smirk, “So that’s your heartfelt apology? I guess I accept it, too.”

“Then we’re even.”

“I suppose so.” The troll shrugs. He tries to sign, his efforts clumsy and expressionless. His claws often inhibit his movements, and the pauses between each attempted word span several seconds. For slightly under three weeks of practice, however, it’s a decent job. [You want dinner?] The phrase is simple and literal, lacking much nuance. The expressions needed to qualify it as a question are absent, but Dave understands the concept.

“I’m actually going to meet Rose for dinner tonight. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Karkat nods, though he looks inexplicably disappointed. Nonetheless, he smiles. “Sounds fine. I’ve got to go and check in to a written exam soon. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

[Yeah.] Dave waves, watching as Karkat retreats to the bathroom.

* * *

**Date: Tuesday, 19 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Shanty Town Alley Courtyard (Between 23443 and 23445 Border St., Lower Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Evening, approximately 23:30**

Lies are something that Dave is accustomed to. He’s lied since he was a child. Why wasn’t he at school? It certainly wasn’t because he’d broken another bone; no, he was sick. When asked where he was, his father didn’t need to know that he was sleeping over at John’s house again. It’s second nature, now. There was never a dinner set up with Rose. That said, there  _ is  _ the fact that he still owes a few people a decent amount of money, and he hasn’t exactly managed to scrounge that up, yet. So, he fights, like he always has.

His opponent is a smaller, toned troll. Both of their horns have been broken off. Their teeth are pointed, and one eye is covered by a bloodied white patch. It’s an endurance test. Both fighters are evenly matched in strength and power. Their only division, now, is how long they can last.

Ten minutes in.

Dave dodges an uppercut, only to be jabbed in the side. Claws rip through his jacket, digging into the skin of his left side. He twists free, then reacts with a grapple. After slamming the opposing troll head-first into the ground, he knocks them out with an elbow drop to the head.

He ignores the visible jeering of the crowd as he collects his money.

By the time he’s finished the walk back to the apartment, the sun has begun to rise, and his wounds have—for the most part, barring the leaking blood from a nasty gash to his left arm—mostly healed.


	11. Training Your Human, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back but i sort of forgot where i was going so here's something completely off the rails i guess. CONTENT WARNING for past abuse.

**Date: Thursday, 21 January 2055** ****  
**Location: STUD Room 03, Skaia Academy (1 Academy Lane, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: 13:00**

"There's another element of the Blood aspect that I've yet to tell you about." Karkat chooses his words carefully. What he says next is quite possibly the most annoying so-called perk of his innate abilities. When he's sure he has Dave's attention, he continues, "Nothing that you witness during this training session is to leave the room, do you understand?"

Dave nods.

"Great. Now, first of all, this works only on willing participants. Most people are guarded as fuck, so you won't really get much out of them. It doesn't work under stress, so it's not actually useful for any practical applications outside of interrogations and therapy. Neither of these sound like things you'd be involved in, especially not the latter. So," Karkat takes a deep breath. He clears his mind, closes off the parts he doesn't want Dave to see, then offers his hand out.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Dave accepts the gesture.

"Don't release. Focus. Find my pulse."

There's a softness to Dave's touch, though years of physical work have left his palms rough. He fumbles, not seeming to want to engage in anything more than brief contact. Eventually, he focuses.

Karkat works through the sound of his own heartbeat in his head. "Great. Keep focusing." A dull ringing begins to fill his ears. “This is known as thought threading. Theoretically, it should only go one way. Blood isn’t a common aspect, and most people will be unable to actively view whatever you happen to be projecting. If there are any things you do not wish for me to meddle with or see, guard them.”

“Huh?” The ringing stops. To Karkat’s frustration, Dave withdraws his hand. He takes out his phone, types swiftly, and sends the message.

“I’m not sure I consent to this sort of bullshit. I’m not exactly thrilled about this whole song and dance. Me getting into your head? Not something I exactly want, but not something that’s entirely awful. You getting into my head? That’s not something I want. Full fucking stop.”

“Yeah. It fucking sucks. I get it. I’m not jazzed about this exercise, either, but it’s either learning how to do this in a controlled environment, or shaking some random sopor addict’s hand and getting an all-access pass to whatever the fuck is happening in their thoroughly scrambled think pan. Which is it?” Karkat speaks with more force than he means to, but he supposes that doesn’t really matter much to Dave. He’s spent the last day preparing himself for this and closing any doors he doesn’t want pried open; he’ll be damned if this session gets wasted. “Well?” he presses, having received no response.

“Ugh.” Dave waves his hands in the air. [Okay!] His left hand forms an ‘O’ handshape, which shifts to a ‘K’ as he moves the hand forward. He fumbles again and grabs hold of Karkat’s hand.

The ringing returns. It sounds like the melodic song of a wet finger running along the edge of a glass. It warbles—aimlessly, at first, then, in sync with Karkat’s heartbeat.

According to the provided material, the transition from the waking world to the precarious realm of memories is supposed to be smooth and easy. Instead, for Karkat, it’s akin to being hit by a truck. He feels the emotions of his paired subject—resentment, frustration, anger, and hatred. He feels a nagging, searing sense of isolation.

_ “Dave Strider,” says a voice, grainy and indistinct, “Step forward.” _

_ From Dave’s perspective, he finds himself led down a featureless grey hallway. The restraints around his wrists dig into his skin, and he wonders how long they’ve been in place for them to leave the bruises that he feels. _

_ After some time, he’s roughly shoved into a familiar holding room… _

The ringing grows louder. The scene fades, and another takes its place.

_ It’s unbearably cold, and the threadbare clothing doesn’t help to retain much body heat. The streets are mostly empty, vacated for what Karkat can easily pin down as the Cold Season Merriment Festival. In his hand, he finds a piece of paper, onto which is scrawled an address. He looks up, to a dark brown door, and hesitates. _

_ While the process of thought threading allows insight into the past, it isn’t perfect. Karkat has no clue what Dave’s thoughts are at this moment, he knows only what he can feel. There’s a sense of apprehension, though it’s dwarfed by an overwhelming fear. It’s a sort of gnawing, all-consuming anxiety that he’s uncomfortably familiar with—the fear of disappointment. Then, there’s nothing. The emotions fade. _

_ Dave knocks on the door and, when it swings open, he’s greeted by none other than Rose Lalonde. _

_ “Oh,” the woman’s voice sounds as if it’s been passed through a dozen electronic filters. “Dave. I honestly didn’t think that you would bother visiting me. That’s not to say that I’m unhappy to see you. Would you like to come in?” _

_ A nod. _

_ Rose smiles, sparking a pleasant, happy, and vaguely nostalgic warmth to settle in Dave’s chest. “Of course. It’s cold, isn’t it? I heard you’d be arriving here from Houston. The circumstances are…” Here, Rose pauses. She leans against a plain coffee table and taps her pink-painted nails against the glass, which covers an expensive-looking, imported wood surface. “Let’s just say that the circumstances which surround your arrival are less than ideal, but that can’t be helped. On a technicality, it’s nice to see you again. Of course, neither of us were even aware of the true nature of the existence of the other for some time, so it’s rather foolish of me to reference this interaction as any sort of reunion.” _

_ Dave scurries to the crackling fireplace. As Rose speaks, he holds his hands to it, reveling in the heat. As Karkat has come to expect, he says little. To Karkat’s surprise, however, there’s a burning frustration, which hints at the desire to  _ want  _ to respond. _

_ “Should I take your silence as a signal of miscommunication between us, or is it simply that you’re uncertain of what to say?” _

_ “Dunno,” Dave mumbles. His gaze locks on the dancing flames. _

_ “Well, whatever the case may be, you’re welcome to stay here as long as needed. Assuming the information you provided is correct, however, it won’t be for much time. The Alternians are quick to collect on any participants in their diplomatic program.” _

The flickering fire rises, until the passionate hues consume everything. Its soothing pops and cracks give way to another round of ringing, and the scene shifts.

_ There’s no ground beneath his feet. Dave dangles above a bustling city street, held aloft by the back of a torn and dirty shirt. He kicks and writhes, wholly indifferent to the fate that awaits him should he fall. There should be more noise. The traffic below should thrum with energy, and the visible, nearby industrial zones should clang like the rattling of a poorly maintained engine. Instead, there’s only a dull buzzing noise. _

_ “I’m sorry,” Dave yelps. (The words are clear in Karkat’s mind, but he doesn’t actually hear them being spoken.) He reaches for the wrist of the hand that holds him, only to be met with a smack in the face. “I missed the bus home! I had to walk back! Please don’t drop me, Bro. It won’t happen again.” _

_ The tormentor shrugs. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of pointed shades, and his face is unnervingly blank. He speaks, but the long shadows cast by his baseball cap make it near impossible to read his lips. _

_ “I’ll do anything! I’ll spit-shine your shoes for a year! Just don’t drop me.” _

_ An agonizingly long pause. A smirk. The man reels around and tosses Dave, so that his back slams into the brick wall surrounding the roof access stairway. _

The world returns with a literal snap. Karkat reels, grabbing his head and stumbling back a few steps before processing what’s happened.

Dave has released his grip. His eyes are wide, and sweat beads against his brow. “I... I don't think I should've seen that,” he mumbles.

“Nothing that happens here leaves the room,” Karkat says. It’s a feeble attempt at reassurance, but it’s the most he can scrounge together in the moment. “Shit, Dave, I…” For the first time in a long while, Karkat can’t quite find words to express what he’s feeling. For the most part, the people he’s deemed to be complete assholes have been just that. He’s never stuck around long enough to disprove the label.

Dave, though… Dave is something wholly different. He’s far more complex than Karkat gave him credit for. Is that due to his woefully inadequate instruction? Probably. But, then again, Karkat has never exactly engaged in thought threading with anyone. He’s never been into the mind of another person—troll or human—and he’s never gotten such an intimate look at anyone else’s personal life. His life has been one of amicable distance. He helps others and maintains social links, but he’s never actually bothered to delve too deeply into other people’s personal histories.

The buzzing of his phone brings Karkat back to reality. When he goes to check it, he finds himself in an empty training room. The only evidence than anything had ever happened is a message from Dave.

“Hey so I don’t know exactly what you saw, but I take it it wasn’t really fucking peachy. Sorry about that. Crapsack life and all that, right? Look, sorry to just dump you on your ass and leave you high and dry, but I’m not really comfortable with this whole thought sewing bullshit or whatever. It’s creepy. I don’t want you poking around in my head, and I really didn’t enjoy poking around in yours.

“Not sure if you’d want to know, but from my end all I got was a parade of bullying. Guess we’re more alike than we thought. I didn’t really have all that many friends, either. I can count them all on one hand, literally. Three. I had three friends growing up. Two of them were online only, and only one of them actually went to the same school as me. Sure hope you didn’t see any of that shit, because fuck if anyone likes being back in high school, right?

“TL;DR? I’m checking out for the day. Whatever you saw, it looks like it’s shaken you the fuck up. If you want to talk about it, we can do it tomorrow. Not like I didn’t already live through it, if I got what you were throwing down. I guess I owe you an apology for being an irritable little shit to you. We’ll call it a truce.

“Rose said she got some reservations at some sort of popular restaurant that specializes in human food, so I’ll be there later tonight. Don’t bother waiting up for me, because fuck knows when I’ll be back. — D.S.”


	12. Human Conflict Resolution, Part II

**Date: Friday, 22 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Alternian Diplomatic Apartments (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 14:30**

When the door opens, and Dave stumbles in, the first thing Karkat notices is that the human looks like absolute shit. His hair is disheveled. His left eye is swollen; and a rip in his shirt, the edges of which are stained with dried blood, reveals a freshly healed wound. Nonetheless, he greets Karkat with his usual air of indifference. He waves, then immediately proceeds to assault the fridge, taking from it an armful of assorted leftovers.

“You look like a pissed off purrbeast dragged you to its lair, thoroughly masticated you, then regurgitated your insufferable ass into the nearest trash receptacle. Any particular reason?” In the moment, Karkat finds himself torn between frustration at a wasted day of training and concern for his charge.

Dave neither acknowledges these emotions, nor does he appear to have any concern for his own wellbeing. He signs a response, only to swiftly realize that his audience doesn’t fully understand him. After breathing a dramatic sigh, he takes his usual notepad from his jacket’s inner pocket.

“There’s a reason, but it ain’t exactly any of your business.”

“Oh. Of course not,” is Karkat’s sardonic reply. “Not as if any bodily harm that befalls you outside of your requisite training will come down on my head, like the unrighteous hammer of perverted justice.” He picks up the lump of dough he’s been working with and begins to knead it with more vigor. There’s a resounding, cathartic  _ thud  _ when he slams it against the countertop. “ _ No _ ,” he draws out the vowel, “Fuck me, right? Nothing that happens to me is any of your concern. The only thing on the line here is my future.”

“You suck at guilt tripping. I’m not telling you things you’re not entitled to knowing.”

After Dave is sure that Karkat has read his reply, he shrugs. Turning to the spread of leftover food before him, he settles upon cracking open the chitinous shell of a Martian scuttler. It’s a large, crab-like organism, the meat of which is often compared to veal in taste. He eats loudly, not bothering to retrieve any utensils.

“And it’s not as if I was going to maybe eat that later.”

[You weren’t going to.] After signing this, with hands covered in stringy meat, Dave adds a written addendum.

“It’s been sitting in the fridge for almost a week. If you were going to eat it, you would have eaten it by now.”

Damn. Karkat hates when people throw his mannerisms in his face. The fact that Dave even knows this fact hints at the man being more observant than anticipated.

“Fine. Finish the fucking thing off.” Karkat digs his claws into the dough. He imagines that it’s Dave’s inflated ego, and takes great pleasure in beating it into shape.

“Hey.” Dave’s voice draws Karkat’s attention. Once the troll’s eyes are focused on him, he offers his commentary. He begins by pointing at the troll. From here, he holds his hand in front of his chest. The palm faces inward, and he taps his middle finger to the tip of his thumb. The final action finds his right hand flat, palm facing up, in front of his lower chest. He brings his left hand down, so that the palms touch, before raising it; he brings it back down, so that the back of his left hand touches his still-outstretched palm.

“I like... something?” Karkat inquires. A low growl escapes him. He’s never been fond of being unable to understand what’s being said to him. This entire song and dance with Dave has been nothing short of an unending parade of extreme frustration.

Dave scrawls out what he’s signed on the notepad, then holds it aloft.

“Do you like cooking?”

Beneath this message is a crudely drawn image of a loaf of bread.

“Baking, technically,” Karkat grumbles. “Why would it matter to you?”

“No real reason. I just didn’t think you’d like cooking. It seems like something too delicate for you. I mean… I’m not meaning that in some sort of bullshit way, just that you’re so damned aggressive that I’d assume any food you’d make would end up pounded into dust.”

“I can be precise when I need to be.”

[Okay.]

“Yeah.” Karkat pauses. He holds his right hand up, at roughly shoulder level, and forms an ‘O’ shape, followed by a ‘K’. [Okay.] In the back of his mind, he recognizes that the snide tone he so desperately wants to convey probably doesn’t come through, but he supposes that what he’s done will suffice.

Dave, meanwhile, briefly cracks a smile. When it fades, less than a second after it appears, he returns to his usual look of apathy. [Okay,] he parrots.

“I’m not playing this juvenile game.” Karkat turns his back to the human, and returns to intently working on the dough. By now, it’s ready to prepare for the oven. He carefully shapes it, sets it atop the waiting pan, and does his best to ignore the fact that Dave is now intently watching his every move.

“It looks pretty good,” Dave mumbles.

Karkat, halfway through putting the bread into the oven, jumps at the sudden intrusion. His hand hits the top of the oven, and a yelp of pain follows. Nonetheless, he has enough wits about him to finish shoving the pan in before he slams the door closed. “What the actual fuck!?” he snaps, as he turns to face Dave.

“Sorry.” The statement is accompanied by a thoroughly confused Dave, wringing his hands together.

“Fuck. It’s fine. You just talk so fucking rarely that hearing you say anything is like being smacked in the face by a flailing sea creature.”

[Good to know.]

“Yeah.”

The awkward atmosphere quickly lapses into silence. The stinging of the superficial burn on Karkat’s hand fades, its healing hastened by the aspect of blood. Eventually, the lack of any sort of noise turns to a tenuous, maddening amplifier of every other sound. The clock ticks loudly, beating out every passing second like a diligent drummer. The fridge hums. In another unit, someone turns on the water, causing the pipes to hiss and groan.

Karkat snaps. “Look, I know I said that nothing that happened in the room yesterday would be discussed again, but what the  _ fuck  _ did you see in there?”

Dave, his face a perfect image of confusion, takes a moment to respond.

“You didn’t see what I saw?”

“No. It’s not a two way system. Well… It  _ is _ , but not like that. You saw my memories, and I saw yours.”

“Makes sense to me. I haven’t really thought much about the shit I saw. I went out and hung out at one of the seedy little bars by the docks, actually. Can you give me a second to think about shit?”

“Sure.” Karkat folds his arms across his chest. Before the session had begun, he’d done his best to suppress anything he didn’t want Dave to see. But, in retrospect, he wonders if all that did was bring those very thoughts to the forefront of his mind.

After a few minutes of attentive writing, Dave slides the notebook across the coffee table.

“I just saw snippets of a few things. Most of it was just you getting your ass handed to you as a kid. I guess we can both relate, right? I was a punching bag for most of my life, too, so we’ve got some common ground. I’m guessing it was for completely different reasons, ‘course. Looks like you lived with an annoying relative, too. That's unrelated to the first bit.”

“Yeah,” admits Karkat. He figures that, at this point, he might as well try opening up a little. He tosses the notebook back, onto the coffee table, as he continues, “My brother. Absolute fucker. Fuck that shitheel and the hoofbeast he so haughtily rode in on.”

From his spot, on the floor of the living room, Dave nods. He taps the pen against his leg a few times before scribing his response.

“I saw you grinding some other troll in the back of what I guess is some fucked over alien high school locker room. Not exactly sure I really needed to or wanted to see it, but I guess I should’ve guessed that you swing that way.”

“Oh.” Karkat buries his face in his hands. Of course, of all the memories he didn’t want to show to his charge, his fling with Sollux would make the cut. “Fuck.”

“It’s no big deal, dude. I don’t really care. I guess I swing both ways, so it doesn’t matter much to me. I’m just pointing out that it looks like you wanted to know what got me so bent out of shape yesterday, and seeing the dude that’s supposed to be training me acting like a horny dog in the back of an extraterrestrial gym isn’t exactly something that inspired great confidence.”

“Nice to know,” is all Karkat can manage to say.

“Sure. I don’t really care to know what you saw, by the way. I really don’t need reminding of that sort of shit.”

Karkat nods. He can understand and respect Dave’s choice. In fact, he isn’t keen on reliving the vision, either. Instead, he distracts himself from his burning embarrassment by trying his hand as sign language. [What do you want for dinner?] Even as he muddles his way through the phrase, he knows he’s butchered it, somehow.

Thankfully, Dave is a more gracious tutor. If there were any mistakes, he doesn’t point them out. He offers a shrug, a thoughtful hum, and a few moments of consideration before providing a noncommittal reply.

“I kind of just ate, so I probably won’t be all that hungry when it’s dinner time. I don’t really care what’s on the menu. As long as there’s something to eat, I’m not going to be picky about it.”

Something about the statement rouses a sadness in the back of Karkat’s thoughts. He begins to put together the pieces of the puzzle. The image is by no means complete, but he can at least figure out that Dave’s upbringing was nothing close to normal or decent.

As Karkat is busy pondering, Dave tacks on a quick addition to his retort.

“Why’re you asking, anyhow? You usually just slop some shit on my plate.”

“Kanaya was wondering if we’d like to go out for dinner. I’ll just tell her to reschedule for tomorrow.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Dave pockets the notepad and offers a double thumbs up. Then, without any further fanfare, he clambers up the ladder for the bunk bed, and settles into the top bunk.


	13. Getting to Know Your Human Companion, Part V

**Date: Saturday, 23 January 2055** **  
** **Location: Green Hills Park (Northern Skaia City, Skaia)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 18:15**

The park is illuminated only by the gently pulsing luminescence of the myriad of streetlights. The attached battery packs buzz softly. When the pitch of the buzzing rises, the light fades. The flickering has long been a problem, and it’s a constant complaint among Skaia City residents. Nobody knows what causes it, and it’s slowly starting to settle in as a simple fact of existing in the city.

Karkat, having settled himself in a patch of particularly soft grass, plucks at the blades of grass. The evening dew rubs off on his fingers and runs down his claws. He looks to Dave, who returns the brief glance. “What sort of shit do you even do for fun, Strider? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do something that would classify as standard human relaxation since I met you.”

Dave shrugs.

“You _don’t know_?” Karkat presses. “You _don’t fucking_ _know_!?”

Dave shakes his head.

“Ugh. You’re impossible. You’re unfathomable. You’re the most stubborn, obnoxious, insanely obtuse person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

The commentary draws a smirk from Dave. [I try.]

“Fuck you.”

Silence. Nearby, a grasshopper starts chirping. It’s an annoying, grating sound. Karkat has always hated the sound of grasshoppers and crickets. Right now, with them seeming to mock his social inelegance, he hates it even more.

“Hm…” Dave, now looking away, gestures up, towards a low-hanging branch on a nearby tree. He says something, but Karkat doesn’t understand the word. After a second attempt, Dave gives up and signs, [Bird. There’s a bird.]

Looking at the spot again, Karkat sees it. A large crow is perched on the branch. As he watches, it ruffles its feathers. It caws, then takes off.

“Yeah. You said you liked birds, didn’t you?”

A nod.

“Do you have a favorite?”

[C-R-O-W-S.] Dave signs each letter slowly, punctuating each with a pause. It’s a marked departure from how Karkat sees him around Rose—fast, animated, and almost frenetic.

“Crows?”

[Yes.]

“So, you stare at birds all day?”

[No.] Dave frowns. He pushes up his shades. There’s a brief pause between this and his reply, during which he uses his shirt sleeve to clean off the lenses of his shades. [I like…] he begins, though he ends up repeating it a few times, almost like a nervous stutter. Between the distinct signs, he fidgets, wiggling his fingers and wringing his hands together. As far as Karkat can tell, it means nothing. Eventually, he manages to come up with some sort of answer. He holds his right hand flat, with the palm facing to the left, and uses the outstretched little finger of his left hand to draw a small circle against it.

“Great. You like a word I don’t fucking know. Helpful.”

[D-R-A-W.]

“Oh.” Karkat pauses. In retrospect, he can recall seeing Dave scribbling in the margins of spare bits of paper from time to time. “Huh. Are you any good at it?”

[Maybe?] It’s posed as a question, his face the perfect image of uncertainty. [I don’t know.]

“Well, I guess you could show me some time.”

[Sure!] There’s an unexpected amount of enthusiasm in Dave’s reply. A small, albeit nervous, smile punctuates the statement. [Do you have P-A-P-E-R?] He spells the word out, followed by signing it. When the palm of his left hand strikes against his upward-facing right hand, there’s a soft clapping noise. It manages to draw a curious stare from a few passerby, though they quickly deem whatever is happening to be of little concern.

Karkat, in return, mimics the motion. “Paper?”

Dave nods.

“Good to know, I guess. Too bad I don’t have any. Couldn’t you use that notebook you’ve always got?”

First, a look of annoyance crosses Dave’s face. Then, quite suddenly, it’s replaced by something akin to embarrassment. He briefly buries his face in his hands before taking out the aforementioned notepad. With his usual red pen, he spends a few minutes scribbling. When he turns it around, he reveals a fairly decent, albeit highly stylized, rendering of his assigned tutor. He concludes the interaction by ripping the page from the book. He goes to throw it away, only to be interrupted by Karkat.

“You know what? I’ll keep that, if you don’t mind.”

Dave pauses. He seems to ponder the demand for a moment, but he ultimately relents. He hands the sketch over.

Karkat folds it carefully, then puts it in his jacket’s inside pocket for safekeeping.

* * *

**Date: Monday, 25 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Skaia Academy Testing Room #45 (1 Academy Lane, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Exactly 13:00**

While Karkat has never been a nervous test-taker, there is, as it is said, a first for everything. As he enters the testing room, he can feel anxious heat rising to his horns, no doubt coloring them a disgusting shade of vivid red. He finds that he has to remind himself to breathe, and he falls back on an old method his father had taught him to use for anxiety. He reaches into his pocket and rolls a large glass orb around in his hand. He does his best to avoid eye contact with his examiner, an older, grizzled troll.

“Welcome to your first monthly examination,” the test-giver recites, her voice flat. She sighs. Clearly, she’s not thrilled to be saying this for what must be the umpteenth time today. “We will be testing you on the bond you have formed with your human charge, and combine the results of this oral exam with the feedback we confidentially received from your charge over the past two day relaxation period. As per Academy policy, and for the posterity of the video record, we will begin with identifying information. This is Diplomacy Capstone case number six-one-two, Karkat Vantas, who is paired with subject E-1203413. Is this information correct?”

“Yes,” Karkat manages to squeeze out.

The woman nods. She brushes a strand of grey hair from her face, and tucks it behind her looping left horn. “Wonderful,” she drones, her voice about as enthusiastic as someone on the receiving end of a surgery. “We will begin with your provided feedback, which to protect the confidentiality of all subject-staff communication, will be paraphrased. As per document F-612-005, your charge has commented quite positively on your interactions, and notes that he is pleased with your progress. He noted that your interactions are, quote, ‘refreshing’, end quote, and that he enjoys spending time with you.”

The feedback from the letter continues for some time, though most of it is ignored. Instead, Karkat finds himself reeling from the fact that Dave actually gave him anything but a well-deserved failing mark for the month. After all, it isn’t as if they started with a splendid relationship…

“Mister Vantas,” the assessor snaps, bringing the dazed troll back to reality, “I have asked you the first question. Of the meals you have prepared for your charge, what has been his favorite?”

Karkat hesitates. He gnaws on his lip, chewing until he tastes a bitter, metallic jolt of blood. “I’m not too sure, seeing as he doesn’t really speak about much of anything.”

“Well,” groans the assessor, “What would you  _ guess  _ is his favorite meal?”

“He seemed rather pleased with the so-called tuna sandwich I made him a week ago.”

“Hm.” The older troll huffs. “That is, in fact, correct. Your score is currently one out of five. On the provided entry paperwork, your charge expressed interest in five things. Please name one of them.”

“Drawing.” The answer, this time, is swift and confident. Of all of his interactions with Dave, the recent outing to the park stands out as one of the least stressful; thus, the information he gathered there is firmly cemented in his memories.

“Correct. Your score is currently two out of five. Whatever it is you are doing with your hands, Mister Vantas, please cease. It is distracting.”

Karkat frowns. It dawns on him that he’d inadvertently signed the last phrase, and he quickly shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

“Whatever.” The test-giver’s papers rustle loudly before the next prompt is given. “What is your charge’s favorite animal?”

“A crow.”

“Correct. Your score is currently three out of five.”

Karkat breathes a sigh of relief. He’s passed the exam at this point. The next two questions are little more than additional points added to his grade. Should he fail to correctly answer the final questions, he’ll still have an above-average score.

“In what human-assigned month is your charge’s birthday?”

“December?”

“Correct. Your score is currently four out of five. The final question has been selected by your charge, out of a pool of eight possible questions. Please inform us of the item that you purchased for your charge during your mandatory shopping activity.”

“A hat.”

“Wonderful. Congratulations, you have received a score of one hundred percent for your first month exam. Please accept the warm regards and pride of all of the staff.” The words are spoken with little sincerity, and Karkat is quickly ushered out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter. sorry it's shorter. as usual, feedback is welcome and appreciated. suggestions are also a thing, i guess? thanks for reading!


	14. Assimilating to Alternian Culture, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some mood music: [Faking It](https://bowman.bandcamp.com/track/faking-it) by Michael Guy Bowman.

**Date: Monday, 25 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Trinity Platinum Theater #105 (3518 Browning Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 10:30**

The randomized assignments for the week are, apparently, based on the idea of acclimation and assimilation. All the prescribed activities are standard fare for city-dwellers of Skaia. They can be completed in any order, and the budget for the bare minimum of each item on the checklist has been provided. Being that this is overseen by a notoriously tight-pursed organization, anything beyond the shittiest transportation possible and basic admission is omitted. It is for this reason that Karkat finds himself hunched over a grimy, sticky table in the theater’s blocky, monolithic lobby. He counts out his pocket change.

“Do you really need to have popcorn?” he bemoans, seeing every passing coin as less money in his pocket for himself. “Let’s be completely fucking honest with ourselves. We both know that I, a mutant orphan in college, am not anything even verging on swimming in money. You know that. I know that. And you’re still insisting on making me buy you, a grown-ass human, goddamned popcorn?”

Dave shrugs. He stretches his arms above his head and, with a massive yawn, props his feet on the table. He takes his notebook from his bag, scribbles a response, and slides it across the table.

“Have you ever tried to watch a movie without sound and without captions? That shit ain’t exactly easy, and it doesn’t make for a mighty enjoyable viewing. I get that your almighty college clowns assigned this activity, and we have to do it, but it’s not like I’m getting much out of it. You bought the tickets, so there’s one social interaction getting flushed down the shitter, anyhow.”

After shoving the notebook aside, Karkat responds with an indignant huff. He prepares to say something, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice.

“It seems we both chose to fulfil the same required outing for today,” Kanaya says, her smile bright and cheerful. From her pocket, she takes a few loose paper bills. After counting out about thirty Alternian dollars, she comments, “You’re looking for money for refreshments, I assume?”

“Dumbass over there wants some popcorn and won’t settle on just letting my wallet keep to itself.”

“Well,” Rose interjects, “I’m sure you’re aware that Dave isn’t exactly fond of films. He much prefers primarily visual mediums, such as comics.” When she grins, there’s an undeniable sense of smugness.

“I am going to head over to the refreshments station. I know what Rose and I want, so I shall take your order at this time. Karkat? Dave?”

“I don’t really fucking care.” Thoroughly exasperated by the entire affair, and mildly embarrassed by the fact that his friend has to pay for snacks, Karkat buries his face in his hands. He adds this to a running, extensive tally of times that Kanaya has had to bail him out.

“Dave would like a soda and a large popcorn,” informs Rose, presumably acting as an interpreter; Karkat is too busy wallowing in personal woes to look.

Only after Kanaya has left, and the rush of heat drains from his horns and cheeks, does Karkat bother to re-emerge from his self-imposed shell. He finds both Rose and Dave engaged in a rather spirited discussion in sign language. Their speed and personal quirks make it impossible for him to follow, and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that it’s rude to even bother trying. So, instead, he takes some of the change he’d gathered and uses it to play a round of drag racing on one of the assorted reject arcade cabinets. It’s less fun than he’d thought it would be. By the end of his thirty allotted seconds, he has failed to gain any sort of relief from an oncoming headache; he feels only the bitter sting of a wasted $1.50.

The only halfway decent film out at the moment (at least in Alternia) is, according to the halfhearted Google search Dave did beforehand, some sort of historical drama.  _ At the Edge of the World  _ bills itself as a quasi-romance film, set against the backdrop of the 2012 arrival of Alternians on Earth. The plot revolves around four characters: Paxton, an Alternian native and expeditionary force general; Amélie, Paxton’s under-developed human love interest; Brandon, the bumbling comedic relief for Paxton; and Eannes, the human antagonist and apparent commander of some unspecified branch of the United States military. It’s uninspired, boring, and bears enough of a resemblance to the plot of  _ Pocahontas  _ to at least raise a brow. That the college-reimbursed ticket didn’t include captions doesn’t help the film gain any enthusiasm from Dave. (Not that they would have helped. The only available captions were in Alternian.)

The film clocks in at just under three hours.

So far, it’s been about forty-five minutes.

Dave yawns, slouches deeper into the overly plush satin seat, and comes to the unfortunate conclusion that he’s eaten the last of his popcorn. Against his better judgement, he glances at the screen. Paxton, who is standing in the middle of a control room of some sort, appears to be engaged in a heartfelt monologue, and he clutches the hand of Amélie with an iron grip. Boring. As Dave expected.

He nudges Rose. [Are you actually liking this bullshit?]

His twin shrugs. Her gaze wanders over Dave’s empty bag of popcorn, and she graciously offers him a bag of Wild Wrigglers, Alternia’s version of Twizzlers. [Not really.]

The comment earns a smirk from Dave. [This is boring as fuck. This is some really boring shit.]

[I agree.] Rose rolls her eyes. She moves to say more, only to be interrupted by Kanaya, who mumbles something to her. Whatever was said seems more interesting, or at least interesting enough to win over Rose’s attention.

Once again left alone, Dave sips at his soda. As it’s nearing empty, he knows he’s slurping; he just doesn’t really care.

Karkat reacts with a rough nudge on the shoulder. He speaks, probably mumbling under his breath, “Mother of  _ fuck _ , can you maybe not be a fucking asshole for ten seconds?” He rummages through his pocket and takes out a few dollars, which he shoves into Dave’s hand. “If you’re that thirsty, just buy another soda.”

Relieved to have an excuse to avoid suffering through any more of the film, Dave takes the cash and runs. After getting another drink from the machine up front, he settles down at a booth in the corner of the lobby. The bright pink faux leather backing is peeling, and there’s a fairly sizable divot where people have favored sitting over the years.

He contents himself with browsing on his phone for a while, though he grows tired of doing so after an hour. With a few cents left, and a bit over one and a half hours of film remaining, he tries his hand at the claw machine, which is stocked with novelty toys of the lowest caliber. He fails multiple times, but still repeats the action until his pockets are empty. Having exhausted his funds, and feeling at least a little guilty for missing over half of the film, Dave grudgingly trudges back to the theater.

As far as Karkat is aware, there was no real stipulation that his charge had to necessarily see the entire movie. If a summary is needed, he’ll provide it. Admittedly the whole thing was a waste of time. Even he, a romance film fan, couldn’t stomach the clichéd diatribe. In fact, he finds himself mildly envying that Dave managed to slip out for a majority of the film’s slog.

While Dave was gone, however, he figured he’d at least try and get on Dave’s good side. It is for this reason that he finds himself in a cramped, loud American-themed restaurant. Atop his half-full plate is a soggy burger, the flavor of which is about as appealing as chewing chunks of drywall. He stares at the contemptible excuse for a meal with a strangely passionate sense of disgust. How dare he be charged $50 for such a piss-poor excuse of a burger? He’s had and enjoyed burgers before; this, however, is a flavorless slop.

“Hey.” A whistle. When this fails to draw Karkat’s attention fast enough, a voice speaks up, “You. Karkat. —to Karkat? You going to eat that?” Some words, which Karkat can’t quite parse, are missed. The chaotic din of the eatery makes it hard for him to piece together the sentence’s gaps.

“What?”

[You. Eat?] Dave signs clearly and precisely. It’s different from the loose, fast, and almost irreverently casual way that he speaks with Rose. “You eating that?” he clarifies.

“Jesus fuck, can you wait a second?” Karkat snaps. He groans. His headache hasn’t improved much, and he’s keenly aware of the fact that this additional outing was probably a mistake. “You can have the damned thing. Tastes like ass, anyhow.”

Dave eagerly accepts the food. Having cleared his own plate, he proceeds to empty Karkat’s in a matter of minutes. When he’s done, he burps. Though loud, the sound is lost to the surrounding cacophony. [Thanks.] He signs this with a small smile. He moves to add something more to the comment, only to freeze. His gaze is locked on something over Karkat’s shoulder and, though the troll looks, in the dense throng of the crowd, he can’t see what’s caught the man’s eye.

“What?” Karkat presses, trying his best to get some sort of discussion going. “Someone you know?”

There’s a minute long stretch of awkward silence. It concludes with Dave rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. [No.] He writes a note to elaborate.

“I thought it might’ve been someone, but it probably ain’t. I must be seeing shit. If you’re done, I’d like to step outside to smoke.”

“Sure. Whatever the fuck you want to do. I’m your paired partner, not your lusus. Go outside and huff all the nasty carcinogenic products your human think pan desires. I’ll be out when I’m done paying.” Karkat emphasizes his message with a casual wave of his hand.

Dave wastes no time in departing. In fact, it almost seems like he rushes out of the building, aggressively elbowing his way through the crowd on his way out.

Normally, this would intrigue Karkat. Considering his rapidly peaking headache, however, he lets the incident slide and stumbles to the register.


	15. Assimilating to Alternian Culture, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I just sit in my room  
> after hours with the moon  
> And think of who knows my name  
> Would you cry if I died  
> Would you remember my face?”  
> — Priscilla Ahn, ["Fine on the Outisde"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4ASDIs6JD8)

**Date: Tuesday, 26 January 2055** **  
****Location: Alleyway (Behind 23 N. Lombardi St., Lower Skaia City)** **  
****Time: Approximately 06:30**

The wind is cold and piercing. It feels like needles, pricking against any exposed skin with a sort of crazed vengeance. “How dare you bother venturing outside?” it seems to say. Looking up, the stiff breeze can be seen to push the towering skyscrapers, which line the streets like blocky, conformist pillars. Even with a fairly thick coat on, Dave finds himself shivering. In his hands, he holds an envelope, inside of which he’s squirreled away $300,000. He flips the bundle over a few times, marveling at the weight of it.

From his pocket, he pulls a note, which instructs him to leave the payment in the disused mailing portal before him. He seals the envelope, then places it on the rusting pedestal. While he’s never personally used one of these machines, he’s seen other people use it enough to understand the basic concept. After inserting the required postage, roughly two dollars, the material scanner reads the contents. The recipient or office either 3D prints out the desired object or, as is the case with money, the item is incinerated and the funds are deposited directly to the target account.

As a powerful gust of wind whips down the alley, strong enough to topple a mostly empty tin garbage can, Dave reaches for the crumpled page of paper. He scours it, trying to read the requisite postal pin number through the water stains and grime.

 _“Seven?”_ he thinks, _“Is that a fucking seven? Is it a ‘T’? Fuck.”_

In retrospect, there aren’t always perks to being able to write quickly, especially when what you’ve written isn’t always legible… 

He tries the code, using seven, and is met with a flashing red alert for a non-existent postal pin. An involuntary growl of frustration escapes him, and he prepares to key the code in again, only to be shoved against the wall. A hard, powerful punch to the side of the head is enough to send him reeling. The visual overlay on his shades glitches, displaying rapidly flashing strings of incoherent symbols. In the time it takes him to regather his senses, he finds both the envelope and the assailant have disappeared.

Dave still tries to pursue them. He stumbles down the alleyway, his vision swimming with spots, until he reaches the street. By now, the early morning work rush has started; the streets are packed, and blaring car horns stretch up and down the length of the cramped two-lane street. He knows that he doesn’t have a chance of finding the thief; he could try to reverse time, something he’s never done, but who knows how long he’d have to spend searching each and every person? Who knows if he’d even be able to do it properly? He turns, kicks the wall, and lets forth a sharp yelp of pain, drawing only a few curious glances for his efforts. Afterwards, fully cognizant of how close he was to finally getting all his debts paid, he leans against the same wall he’d just broken his toe against. He sinks to the ground, and buries his face in his hands.

Karkat wakes around 9:00, roused by the sound of the door to the dorm room slamming open. He startles, briefly extending his claws and readying himself for an attack, only to back down upon seeing Dave. The man looks tired, and his already battered clothes are covered in dust and dirt.

"What the fuck did the purrbeast drag you through?" inquires Karkat, his brows furrowed. There's a mixture of confusion, concern, and annoyance brewing inside of him. "And why the fuck can't you be a little more quiet? You clearly got out without waking me up. You couldn't come back inside with the same subtlety?"

Dave shrugs. Though he's normally distant, there's something unnervingly detached about his general demeanor. He reacts instinctively, hands moving in a flurry of signs that Karkat can’t hope to understand.

“Great. Helpful answer, asswipe.".

Dave reacts with a startlingly loud shout—a bark. It’s a visceral, primal sound, one that has no real meaning beyond the unfiltered frustration it exudes. “Why do you care,” he mumbles, his voice back to the soft, quiet, near-whisper Karkat is used to hearing. The usual vocal rise at the end of a question isn’t present. Before there’s any chance to ask for clarification, Dave continues, “Glasses broke.” He continues speaking, but Karkat only manages to catch snippets. The sounds of stomping are followed by the scraping of the kitchen island stool against the floor.

The troll adds a handful of Alternian spices to the sizzling pan before he turns around. He flattens his left palm and holds it roughly level with his abdomen, with the palm facing slightly to the right. Bending the fingers of his right hand at the large knuckles, he moves this hand in a small arc, until its fingertips touch his outstretched left palm. [Repeat that.]

A frown. A huff. Dave speaks again, slower, carefully, and with the fingers of his left hand resting against his throat. With the added aid of being able to see his lips moving, Karkat pieces together what he says. “Glasses broke. Shit happened, I guess.” There’s a slight lisp to Dave’s ‘S’s, something that Karkat finds strangely endearing.

Karkat interrupts. He holds his right hand to the side, slightly above his head, and with the fingers splayed. When he swipes it horizontally, to the left, across his field of vision, he curls the fingers, forming a loose ‘C’ shape. He punctuates it by manually indicating a question. [You guess?] he means to say.

Dave understands the crude signing. He shrugs. The topic jumps. Whether it’s unintentional, or a way for Dave to try and avoid speaking about what’s happened, is beyond Karkat’s understanding. His expression shows slight surprise, unlike his deadpan inquiry, “You… Uh… You understand me?”

From the troll, a nod. He fishes a spare pen and some crumpled, discarded sheets of paper, upon which he scribbles a response.

“Pretty much.”

“Honest?” After reading the note, Dave’s brows furrow. He crumples the scrap of paper in his hand, then tosses it into the nearby recycling bin. Afterwards, he waits impatiently for the answer to come. He twiddles his thumbs, then combs his fingers through his hair. He’s on edge; that much is obvious. Something has happened, but Karkat is keenly aware of the fact that he’ll only know what it is if Dave decides to tell him.

“No. I’m just shitting around the bush, leaving a beautiful line of crap to circle the metaphorical foliage. Newsflash, asshole! It’s not exactly the most difficult thing to do on the planet. It just takes some getting used to. It probably helps that you’re technically my first informal exposure to English being spoken by actual humans instead of the ear-grating, raspy throat-fucking I’m sure us trolls sound like when we try to speak any of your languages.”

“Ah?” From Dave, a fluttering, evanescent smile. It’s quickly replaced by more restless movements. He kneads the knuckles of his left hand against his right bicep. He taps his fingers against his thigh.

Karkat, in a final bid to try and figure out what he’s missed, slides another note across the countertop.

“What happened?”

Realization. Whatever it is, it hits Dave suddenly, and he winces. Still, he refuses to speak on the issue. He shrugs, rises to his feet, and exits the dorm room.

* * *

 **Text Message Exchange** **  
****Beginning of Exchange: Wednesday, 27 January 2055, 01:34**

ROSE: I’m so sorry, Dave, I was fulfilling the daily assignment with Kanaya. She informed me that both you and Karkat were supposed to meet us at the mall for the shopping outing, but neither of you ever arrived. This clearly means something has happened, and I hope that the severity of the issue isn’t as dire as I believe it may be,

DAVE: it is.

ROSE: Clarify?

DAVE: i lost the money.

ROSE: … Your debt? Are you speaking of your ill begotten gambling debts?

DAVE: yeah.

ROSE: … 

DAVE: i didn’t gamble.  
DAVE: promise.  
DAVE: i got jumped at the drop point. i don’t know who took it.

ROSE: I don’t have more money to spare at the moment, Dave. As much as I’d like to provide you aid, thus enabling you to perhaps leave behind the questionable lifestyle you’ve led thus far, I simply can’t.

DAVE: yeah that’s fair.

ROSE: Did you explain your current situation to your loan agency?

DAVE: it’s a loan shark rose.  
DAVE: they’ve been harassing an alcoholic deaf dude in government imposed punitive exile for the past however many years.  
DAVE: i doubt they care what my excuse is.

ROSE: You have a point.

DAVE: i do.  
DAVE: i’ve got until the end of the year.  
DAVE: and i’m pretty sure they’re getting pissed that it’s taking me so long.

ROSE: And what would be your reasoning for this deduction?

DAVE: …

ROSE: Okay. If you don’t want to divulge your reasoning, so be it.

DAVE: thanks.

ROSE: Were you just messaging me to say this? No offense intended, but I am quite tired.

DAVE: okay.  
DAVE: yeah.  
DAVE: bye.

* * *

 **Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Corvoh Lane Mall (5563 N. Corvoh Lane, Northern Skaia City)** **  
****Time: Approximately 14:30**

Karkat finds himself split between two types of anxiety. The first is interpersonal, relating to Dave’s obvious anxiety. The man hasn’t been able to stay still since he so rudely barged into the dorm on Tuesday. He radiates an energy so unsettling that it spreads, sinking into the pit of Karkat’s already churning stomach. The second problem is his grade. He’s supposed to have completed one assigned activity every day. Completing all five without negative feedback would net him a perfect grade, while each missed activity reduces the grade by twenty percent. Right now, he’s sitting on a solid sixty. He could _try_ to lie. He could always try to lie, but the population of Skaia, especially in the areas where he’s to complete his tasks, is loyal to the university. They’ll betray him for free, and they’ll do it faster than he can blink.

His fuse is burning dangerously close to his inner detonator, and it’s taking every ounce of control he can muster to keep himself from snapping.

“Watch it.” Karkat grabs Dave by the back of his shirt, preventing him from walking directly into the path of a passing crowd of rather large highbloods.

[Thanks.] The human blinks. 

Karkat points his splayed middle and index fingers at his eyes, then turns his wrist, so that the gesture points outward. Literally, he signs, “watch”, but he means it in a manner more akin to “watch the fuck out, dumbass.” His phone vibrates.

“Sorry for yesterday.”

Karkat responds similarly, texting back his response.

“But you’re not sorry enough to tell me why you’re acting like you’re acting?”

[No.] After this, Dave continues typing, but Karkat has put his phone away.

As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t have anything more to say. Certainly, Dave is old enough to sort out his own issues. Whatever the problem is, he can deal with it alone. His phone still buzzes in his pocket, though. Once. Twice. Again and again, until Dave seems to understand that the need for conversation is one-sided.

After an hour of wandering aimlessly through the mall, with neither participant wealthy enough to purchase anything beyond food, the two men sit at a grimy food court table. The faded red plastic surface is sticky; it smells of melted sugar and curdling milk. It is here that Dave, with nothing more to occupy his mind beyond his own self-deprecating thoughts of failure, makes another desperate attempt to start a discussion.

He presses his fingers to his throat, humming a few times to get a feel of the vibrations of his own voice. He pauses. Speaking aloud has always been difficult for him. Outwardly, he plays everything he does off as natural; showing weakness is the perfect way to invite ridicule. Yet, if there’s one thing he’s been mocked for more than anything, it’s his voice. His pronunciation. It’s never mattered to others how eloquent he can be on paper. So long as he fails to have a perfect grasp on oral language, he’s looked down upon.

 _“Are you really so weak that you can’t even bear your own thoughts?”_ He shakes his head.

Yes. The answer is, to his disgust, yes.

“Hey… Karkat?”

Across the table, the troll pauses. He sighs, scrapes his claws against a nearby column (the surface of which is already covered in similar damage), and reluctantly takes his phone from his pocket. He types.

“What? Why do you think that I’m in the mood for talking to you? You’ve completely screwed me over for the past two days. I’m already looking at being bumped out of the valedictorian status that I’ve worked my ass off to get, and we both know who’s to blame there. You’ve absolutely fucked my grade fifty ways to the human concept of eternal damnation, and you’re still refusing to tell me why you’ve decided to do so. I thought we’d maybe managed to at least land on the same page, but I guess that was fucking wrong. The least you can do is get my name right.”

“Oh…” Dave looks down. He locks his gaze on a dark stain on the floor. “Sorry. Uh…” Now, Dave takes out his phone.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because it’s my goddamned grade. Do you know how long I’ve waited to get away from Alternia? Do you know how fucking hard I’ve worked? Fuck. Does it matter if you do? The point is that you’re screwing me over, and I’d like to know why.”

“So it’s just grades?”

“Didn’t we establish a while ago that we’re not going to be friends? I assumed this was mutual. I hope it is.”

Dave pauses. His heart sinks. As much as he hates to admit it, he’d hoped that Karkat had been interested in him for more than just his academic value. For a moment, he’d thought that he had, perhaps, found someone (other than Rose) willing to get to know him as a person.

He shakes his head.

 _“What the fuck were you thinking, Strider?”_ The thought is a volatile catalyst, which swiftly closes the door he’d been tentatively opening inside of himself. Detaching himself from the situation, Dave falls back on a tried and true strategy. He distances himself.

“If that’s the case, then I guess I’ll tell you. I got jumped in an alley. It’s been giving me the heebie jeebies. Does that satisfy you?”

Karkat shrugs. Though there’s still an air of frustration around him, he softens a bit. He frowns.

“Shit. Sorry. You didn’t lose anything important, did you?”

Dave lies.

“No. I never have anything important on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLOW BURN SLOW BURN SLOW BURN SLOW BURN


	16. Human Conflict Resolution, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were more than alive,  
> Your ambitions were bold.  
> You were high on a bluff,  
> Could not confess a mistake.  
> You demanded the best,  
> Left the worst in your wake.”  
> — Michael Guy Bowman, "[Anarchy](https://bowman.bandcamp.com/track/anarchy)"

**Date: Sunday, 31 January 2055** ****  
**Location: Public Dock (Portside, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 12:00**

Regret had hit Karkat shortly after he’d handed over the note. He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d destroyed the tentative trust that he’d been building. He tries to apologise a few days later, and Dave accepts, but without sincerity. He tries again a few days after that, and he’s once again rebuffed.

Dave no longer smiles. He no longer laughs. He says only strange things, statements that seem to be at once untrue and yet just believable enough. At night, he no longer shows Karkat new signs. Instead, he leaves enough money to make up for whatever he had for dinner, and he departs, always setting his repaired projection shades on the kitchen island on his way out.

During the days, he no longer speaks. And, in defiance of his own expectations, Karkat misses it. He misses the way Dave’s words would blend together, how his voice sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before. He misses the way Dave would laugh at a bad joke or a botched sign, not caring how loud he was or how it sounded to others.

Rose and Kanaya no longer come by. In fact, Rose refuses all further offers to help as an interpreter.

It’s different. It’s unnerving. Still, he never lets on that things have changed. He keeps to routine, and he at least clings to the joy that his rising grades bring.

Yet, in the back of his mind, he wonders where Dave goes at night. From time to time, when Dave is washing dishes or changing his clothes, he sees new scars, their edges jagged, as those healed by the power of blood tend to be.

A few times, Karkat tries to trail his charge. Every time, he loses him somewhere around the port area. Tonight is another of those nights, and he’d normally return to the dorm. Instead, he decides to head for the docks. He finds an abandoned pier. The air is crisp and cold; the sea, frothing and volatile. He watches the waves, studying how they ebb and flow. Without fail, they hurl themselves upon the rocks, again and again, repeating the same fruitless self-sacrifice. Forever.

A sigh sends a cloud of condensation into the air. Karkat folds his arms across his chest and wonders how he got here. There’s a warm, aching feeling between his heart and his stomach, and he knows what it is. It’s that nagging, incessant longing for friendship that he’s had for so long, and it had been fading before. Before he’d screwed everything over.

He looks back on his life, recounting the few friendships he’s had, and recalling how he pushed them each away. He’d told Sollux that he never wanted to see him again. He’d left Terezi abruptly, never informing her of his decision to leave Alternia and head to Earth. He can’t recall how many times he’s distanced himself from Kanaya, yet, for some reason, she always comes back.

And, now, Dave.

If he was to be honest with himself, Karkat would have to grudgingly admit that he likes the human. There’s a strange, inexplicable charm about him. When he thinks about it, he can identify the things that draw him to Dave. It’s the sense of outward confidence, unshakable and unyielding. It’s the way he patiently explained concepts to him, showing him new signs and offering tips. Dave Strider is, in many ways, Karkat’s foil. He’s the antithesis to a lifetime of hating the world and fighting it. Or, at least, that’s what Karkat assumes…

Footsteps approach. The pier shifts slightly, its buoyant base adjusting to a new arrival. In the darkness of the new moon and the gloom of the overcast sky, Karkat can’t identify the newcomer. He sees only the figure of a human, who sits at the edge of the platform a few feet away, with their feet casually skimming the icy waters.

“H-hey?” The voice is unmistakable.

Karkat frowns. He takes out his phone, turns on the flashlight, and shines it in the direction of the unidentified figure.

Sure enough, Dave Strider reveals himself. He groans, throws his forearm in front of his eyes, and recoils from the bright glow. His face is bloodied, and he’s used his jacket to make a temporary sling for his right arm. The edges of a pair of black eyes are slowly reverting back to normal, and his breaths come as strained wheezes. “Fuck,” he mumbles. He waves his free hand, gesturing to the phone as he mutters, “Put that shit away.”

“Oh.” Karkat complies. He frowns, reaches into his pocket, and takes out Dave’s updated shades, which he’d brought with him from the dorm room. He sets them down, in between him and the human, watching anxiously as a pale hand scoops them up and dons them.

There’s a brief lull. Then, after some time, Dave speaks up, “You… uh… Can’t really see me sign in the dark, yuh?” he coughs.

“No, jackass, I really can’t.” Karkat winces at the harshness of his own voice, especially in comparison to the soft, lisping drawl of his conversational partner. “But you can read what I’m saying, right?”

“Yuh.” Dave seems to nod.

“Great. So… Um… I’m really fucking sorry.” Karkat praises the darkness for hiding his all-consuming flush right now. He clenches his fists, pressing his claws into his skin until they sting his palms. “I was being a huge jackass. I let my frustrations and anger boil over, and I took them out on you. My… uh… My therapist warned me about that sort of shit, and I know it doesn’t help, but I’m sure you’ve noticed I’ve got some anger issues.”

“Hmm.” The tone of the response is flat. In the inky night, there’s no way to tell if Dave nodded, but, to keep himself from walking back on his own monologued apology, Karkat takes it as an affirmation of his statement.

“I’m sure you’d be saying some sort of smart-ass thing right now if I hadn’t been such a miserable fucking failure at essentially everything to do with relationships. And… Fuck. This sounds like… What do humans call these? Guilt trips? I don’t mean to be plucking at the strings of your thoracic blood-pusher. I just want to get across that I’m really, really,  _ hugely  _ fucking sorry.” Karkat sighs. He buries his face in his hands, speaking the rest of his apology from this hunched position, “You don’t have to forgive me, and I completely understand if you don’t, but I wanted to say it. Dispel the dark cloud of morbid shame that’s been hanging over me, like the most personally insulting stalker to exist.”

“Huh.” Dave’s shadow shifts. “I… really hate talking,” he says. His voice is louder; when he continues, it’s barely a whisper. “Sorry.” He stands. “Follow me.”

Karkat doesn’t protest. He allows himself to be led back to the main dock area.

Dave walks with a limp, which doesn’t improve much over the course of the ten minute journey.

The walk is silent, and it ends in a disused parking lot. A dim, flickering, dying flood light illuminates the area. It’s enough to see Dave more clearly. [Do you have your phone?] he signs.

Karkat nods.

Dave sits on a dented, overturned oil barrel, the contents of which have long since leaked out. He takes out his own phone, and he types.

When the alert tone goes off, Karkat scrambles to read the response.

“I get it. I say shit I don’t mean when I’m angry, too. It’s a normal part of being sentient, I guess. Don’t worry about it. And, yeah, I’m not aloof enough to completely skip over the whole anger issue thing. It’s pretty obvious. I used to, too. So, hey, same! Your apology’s accepted. Stop asking about it.”

“Then why have you been acting differently?” Karkat demands. The dismissive nature of the response irks him. This is the third time he’s worked up the guts to try and make amends, and it’s the third time he’s been met with a brick wall. He tangles his fingers in his hair. “Look, I didn’t mean what I said. I really  _ do  _ want to get to know you, and maybe even try and have at least an amicable relationship. Is it for my grade? Fuck. Of course it is! But I’m a miserable, lonely bastard, too. I’m not opposed to having a friend. I guess…” Karkat pauses. His voice trails off, “I guess… that’s what I’m trying to say.”

[Okay.] Dave shakes his head. He holds his index finger to his lips, [Quiet.]

“That’s cool. I get it. That’s not what bothered me. I’ve been hoping you’d maybe get your alien horns around that, but I guess I have to spell it out.”

“Oh…” A beat of silence. Karkat’s heart sinks. “So… what was it that I said that pissed you off so much?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m standing right here, right now, spilling my fucking digestive tract out to you. So, yes, Strider, it matters.”

Dave frowns. He breathes a long sigh.

“The problem was that I was naive enough to trust you, I guess. That’s my fault. Or maybe it’s yours? I don’t know. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I generally don’t talk. We’ve been over this sob story. I talk, I get called out for having cornmeal for brains. It’s not my fault I can’t speak properly. Or, at least, I like to think that. But, for a while, you seemed to not really care. And, when you finally did, I guess it just…”

There’s a stretch of unspoken tension between the end of the text and the receipt of the next.

“I guess it hurt. I don’t know. Feelings aren’t my jam. It felt bad.”

A knot forms in Karkat’s throat.

He hadn’t considered  _ that  _ part of the comment. In fact, until now, he’d considered it nothing more than a mean-spirited jab, something he was sure Dave would have shrugged off. After all, he radiates confidence. The realization that a singular, off-handed snap—a cruel aside, thoughtless in every sense—is what’s created this rift, is beyond surprising. It’s a punch to the gut.

Of all people, Karkat should know how words can wound people. He’s been the punchline of cruel derision for years. Now, he finds himself on the wrong end of it. He’s become the person he never wanted to be.

“I…” For some time, the talkative troll falls silent. He thinks. He ruminates. What could he possibly say to make up for this, aside from the truth? Or, perhaps, the truth is exactly what he needs. “I actually really do like your voice, Strider.”

“Are we just going to ignore everything I’ve just so painstakingly typed and rehash the same issue again? It’s not funny.”

Dave's posture is rigid. His brows are furrowed, and his gaze is locked on the ground.

“I’m not fucking joking,” Karkat snaps. He pauses. Closes his eyes. Counts to ten. Breathes in. Breathes out. When he continues, his voice is softer; he knows this doesn’t make a difference, but he hopes it’s showing in his expressions and gestures. “I didn’t even think you’d actually bother with that comment. You just seem so fucking… Strider-esque? That’s not a word, but it’s the only possible descriptor I’ve got at this particular moment of my life’s cavalcade of mistakes. I said it because I was angry, and because I was trying to get you to stop bugging me. I didn’t mean that, either.”

“Okay.”

This is far as he can go, Karkat assumes. He’s had his run of this apology, and nothing more that he can say will change things. So, instead, he offers his hand. “For the umpteenth time,” he grumbles, “Truce?”

After a moment of reluctance, Dave accepts the offer. He shakes Karkat’s hand. When he releases, he sends another text.

“Sure.”


	17. Human Conflict Resolution, Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Spicy Calamari Inkantation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyAi0qScNnk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter! i just wanted a sort of bridge chapter. thanks for reading! the chapter summary is mood music. go for it. and, yes, i suddenly switched up dave's messaging format because he's texting.

**Date: Tuesday, 2 February 2055** ****  
**Location: Outside of Skaia Academy (1 Academy Lane, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 11:30**

Trust doesn’t heal overnight. It’s a lesson that Karkat has learned in the most catastrophic way possible. Despite the apology going smoothly, things remain tense. The relationship is no longer as casual as before. Still, things have improved.

“I should probably show you how to rewind time,” Karkat mumbles. He lays down, in the grass. The blades are gently dusted with the remainders of yesterday’s light rain showers. He takes a few bites of a grain-based snack bar. Frankly, it’s disgusting. He’ll probably never eat another, but he’s not about to waste money by throwing it away.

[Why don’t you?] Dave scribbles at the margins of his notebook.

“Because it’s dangerous as fuck. It’s a whole cavalcade of complexities and intricacies, and fucking over even the most miniscule fact could land you in a bad timeline. Theoretically, I’m still required to show it to you, but I’m still working it out, myself.”

Dave shrugs.

DAVE: Yeah. That sounds like some shit I’d rather not poke around with until you’ve got it down. If you got stuck, though would you die?

“No.” With a grimace and a gag, Karkat forces down a bit more of the prepackaged food item. The packaging flaunts its nutritional value. Perhaps he should have been wary of the zero mentions of its taste. “A splinter of me would remain in this timeline. It’s… Fuck. I was born with the blood aspect, not the time aspect. I don’t really understand how this all works. Here, let me borrow your book.”

From Dave, a wary look.

“I’ll give it back. Promise.”

Reluctantly, and after a pointed glare, Dave relinquishes the object.

When he takes it into his hands, Karkat finds a detailed drawing of a sparrow in the corner. Not wanting to ruin the piece, he flips to a different page. He scrawls the image of a crudely rendered tree trunk. “This is our timeline, right?” he taps the pen against the singular upward-pointing shape. “So, let’s say I traveled back in time and got my imbecilic ass trapped in an offshoot timeline,” he draws two branches, split in the middle. Circling the one on the left, he elaborates, “I’d be here. You’d be in the other timeline, where the current Karkat was wise and  _ didn’t  _ fuck with nature.”

Though his brows are furrowed, and his expression screams anything  _ but  _ absolutely clarity, Dave nods. He puts his hand out, beckoning for the book’s return.

Karkat complies. He flips the page back, once again revealing Dave’s drawing. “Nice art, by the way.”

[It’s nothing.] The human looks away. [It’s stupid.]

“No, it’s pretty fucking good,” insists Karkat. Though he’s always appreciated art, he’s never been able to create it. He’s tried. He spent years trying. He simply doesn’t have the skills, it seems. His mind is geared to analyzing, not creating. “Did you go to art school?”

[No.]

“Sure as fuck looks like you did.”

With a shake of his head, Dave dismisses the comment. He sends an explanation via text.

DAVE: I would have, but shit wasn’t in the cards. I just do art in my free time. It’s not a big deal.

Karkat sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, I like it. The art.”

[Thanks.] The look on Dave’s face is a cross between confusion and gratitude, as if he’s never received a compliment before. [Do you do art?]

“No. I wish I could, but I suck at it. No matter what I do, it ends up looking like someone grabbed a handful of their steaming excrement and smeared it on paper.” A shrug. A yawn. Here, in the grass, it would be so easy for Karkat to just close his eyes and fall asleep. He’s extremely tempted to do so. Then again, the last time he ended up asleep on the campus grounds, some drunken freshmen tried to draw tentabulges on his face. So, perhaps not.

DAVE: I never see you hanging out on campus with anyone except for Kanaya. Do you, like, have zippo other friends?

A low growl escapes Karkat’s throat. He opens his mouth to snap back, but catches himself. Instead, he takes a deep breath. “No. Not really. Does it look like I’ve got time to make friends while trying to keep your stupid ass from getting into some absurd shit?”

DAVE: You’ve been here for at least four years, assuming that alien college works like human college. You haven’t been annoyingly babysitting me that whole time.]

“I’ve been studying. Maybe you’ve never done that in your stupid little life, but I do it a lot.”

DAVE: You’re a nerd. You need to relax. Have you ever, I don’t know, had a drink? Gone to a party? Dicked around a little? Fucked around and found out?

Karkat blinks. He looks at Dave.

Dave looks at Karkat.

Karkat looks at Dave. Another blink. His brows furrow. “What does that stupendously pointless cavalcade of bullshit, which just flowed so inelegantly from your gaping maw, even mean? Are you saying that I should risk my grades, which have already dropped below my usual average, to indulge in pointless vices?”

“Uh…” Dave’s hands move pointlessly, forming no signs, creating a moment of mock hesitation. He smirks. He laughs. [Yes.]

“No.”

[Yes.]

_ “No,”  _ Karkat stresses.

[Yes.] Dave repeats the sign twice.

DAVE: Relax. Unwind. Look, there’s a party down at Feather Down Pillow. Come with me.

“Why?”

DAVE: Why not? You said you wanted to try and patch up what you blew to shit. Besides, you could use some relaxation. You’re tighter than a worn out screw, jammed ass-deep in a rusty old hole.

Karkat rubs his neck. He stares at the sky, pondering whether this is a good idea. He’s never been a party person; he’s never tried. “Oh my fucking…” He covers his face with his hands and groans. “Fine.” He sits up, looks at Dave. “FINE! I’ll join you at your stupid party. How do you even know about it?”

DAVE: I moonlight as a bouncer sometimes.

“Isn’t Feather Down a brothel?”

DAVE: Those nice ladies need protection, too.

“Fine.” Karkat groans. He digs his claws into the soft earth. The mud clings to his skin, like a wet paste. “Fine. Whatever. You’ve already uprooted my life enough. I might as well. When is it?”

DAVE: Tomorrow night.


	18. Lessons from Humans, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Young love at best is a passing phase,  
> Charming and foolish and blind,  
> There may be happier, wiser days  
> When youth is far behind.”  
> — Noël Coward, "[This is a Changing World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CBa3suiI84&ab_channel=TonnyLNielsen)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we gonna get WILD

**Date: Wednesday, 3 February 2055** ****  
**Location: Feather Down Pillow (1212 East High Point Drive, Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: Approximately 23:00**

"Culture shock" is an understatement. What Karkat Vantas walks into is a reality shock. The moment he passes through the doors of Feather Down Pillow, he's thrown into a world of glitz and music and lights and sounds. People bump against him, bouncing to obnoxiously loud music. The throng pulses, like a heart, in time with the electronic sounds. Glasses clank together. People mingle. Trolls, humans. Anyone.

[It's loud,] Dave smirks. He gestures to a bowl near the door, where sealed packets of earplugs are stacked. [Take some.]

Karkat does. Eagerly. Even with them in place, the sound of the party is deafening. He turns around, expecting to see Dave, and is met with a familiar face. "Oh. Rose. It feels like sweeps since I–"

Before he can finish, a sharp punch to the nose fills his visions with stars. As he stumbles back, clutching at his face, Rose offers an oblivious smile. "That's for Dave, as he would certainly never do so himself. Heed my warning, Vantas: do _not_ break my brother's heart."

"Well, fuck," Karkat sputters. The blow was hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to draw blood. "You could have just fucking opened your gaping intake hole and said something."

"I could have," Rose shrugs. "This was more satisfying. Anyhow, I suppose I will meet you again some time tonight." She waves, then disappears easily into the crowd.

After a moment of recovery, Karkat turns. Once again, he expects to find Dave nearby, but such expectations turn out to be the opposite of reality. Where Dave _had_ been, there’s now an unidentified human woman. She looks as startled to see Karkat as he is to see her. The thumping bass music beats against the walls of his chest. As a sigh escapes his throat, his eyes catch sight of a passing bottle of Grubhub’s Finest Ale. He remembers the logo, and he can recall his father mentioning once or twice how it was his favorite. In fact, when he was younger, he and his mother once presented him a gift of a twelve pack of the sopor-laced product. He’s never tasted it; he’s always wanted to. Perhaps now is a decent time to do so.

“Where’d you get that?” he yells to be heard over the music.

The troll holding the drink looks at him, befuddled. “My drink?” They gesture behind them, to a crowd so dense that it seems to move like the ocean, “Go that way. You’ll smell the sopor punch before you even see the stuff. Same room.”

“Real sopor?” stammers Karkat. “Isn’t that illegal?”

From the unknown troll, a hearty laugh. “No, you tool! It’s just a derivative.” As they depart, they offer Karkat a slap on the back.

Breath in. Breathe out.

Karkat dives into the fray.

He bumps shoulders with all sorts of people and trolls. Gyrating hips rub against his thighs. He ignores it all, driven by a desire to at least try and survive the night without the human who dragged him into this technicolor purgatory. When he finally reaches the room, he finds that the coolers have been helpfully labeled. He reaches into the appropriate container, wrenches a bottle of intoxicant from the jaws of melting ice, and pops it open on the edge of a nearby table.

Now or never, he supposes.

He chugs.

The liquid is bitter, and the potent diluted sopor burns in the back of his throat. He’d hesitate to say that the drink has flavor; no, it’s fire in a glass vessel. Gasoline, which slithers down his throat and lights itself aflame as it goes. He gags. He coughs. Then, there’s the aftertaste: spicy, but pleasant, like cinnamon.

Another bottle couldn’t hurt.

He repeats the process. This time, he doesn’t gag quite as much.

Maybe a third?

Hell, four might not hurt.

When he’s finished, he tosses all the bottles into a recycling bin. He doesn’t dare place them in, not with the chunky red blobs of bacon-bit-littered vomit on top of the refuse. His tightly wound nerves begin to unwind. Tense muscles relax. A small smile creeps onto his features, though he doesn’t notice it.

The music isn’t nearly as unbearable. In fact, it’s sort of nice… It’s catchy. He joins a small gathering of people on a plush, pink sofa. A neon colored feather boa has been draped over the seat’s headboard, and the colors beckon to him. They reflect the swirling gobo’s blacklight stars. Brilliant. Effervescent. Shining. When he touches it, the fabric is like tiny clouds beneath his fingers.

A woman with tan skin and soft features—oddly familiar—takes the adornment and tosses it over Karkat’s neck. “It’s yours, sweetie, go for it.” She blows him a kiss and winks.

Warmth spreads through Karkat’s chest. He wraps the feathers around his neck and follows a trail of bubbles. They lead him through rooms with open doors, where men and women alike are performing dances that, were he sober, he would most certainly consider lewd. Down a narrow corridor, with walls adorned by photos of the brothel’s staff. Eventually, he emerges in a back room. Perhaps it was once a lobby, but this thought isn’t exactly on his mind.

At the back of the room, opposite its entrance, is a large suit of armor. It’s broad-shouldered and massive, with a full-face cover and a spike at the center of its forehead. A group of trolls and humans have gathered around it. They point lights at it, so that the polished iron reflects it as twinkling, ephemeral bursts. A human—tall, lanky, tan, and with black hair pulled into a ponytail—informs him that the armor is being worshiped as the protector of the brothel. He isn’t sure how accurate this is, but he’s enamored by the visual. He sits on the floor and stares. When he’s offered a puff of some unknown substance from the humans, he takes it.

Time is too fast.

Time is too slow.

His mind flits about, unburdened by his usual stresses and worries. Is this why his father liked Grubhub’s Finest so much? Not for the taste, but for the feeling? He drank it so rarely; he must have been happy in life. To not need a release like this…

The music keeps going. It never seems to change. Karkat can’t tell if it’s because the songs all sound alike, or if they are literally playing the same song over and over. If it’s the latter, he doesn’t mind. The sound of it has turned from grating to lovely; it strokes his brain, caressing his senses.

“Hey. HEY!” A voice breaks through Karkat’s haze.

The troll opens his eyes. He looks up, to a pale face framed by a halo of pink light. Thin lips are curved into a small frown, and furrowed, concerned brows disappear behind curved shades. The rosy glow of pink hues bouncing off of the man’s skin is gorgeous. The way light scars trace across his features seem almost like the delicate graphite strokes of an artist. He reaches out and touches the man’s hair; it’s as soft as it looks.

Dave yelps. He shoves Karkat’s hand back. “Fuck!” he snaps. He signs, but the meaning of his motions doesn’t connect with his conversational partner’s deep-fried brain.

“Fuck.” Words feel awkward in Karkat’s mouth. Sounds blend together. “You’re gorgeous.” He reaches out.

Again, Dave pushes the hand away. “How much did you drink?” he yells, in a voice that’s hoarse and scratchy. It’s as if he’s never spoken loudly before. “Karkat, listen! How much did you drink?”

“Four.” Karkat rolls over, onto his side.

“Fuck.” This time, Dave reaches out. He grabs onto Karkat's hand and hauls him up, onto his feet, before leading him, like a child, out of the room.

Back down the hallway. Past the bedrooms. Into the lobby. Then, finally, outside.

The cold hits like a truck. It’s biting and cruel, stinging Karkat to the bone. Before he has a moment to even shiver, however, Dave throws his worn out jacket over the troll's shoulders.

Outside, it’s quieter. The visible sliver of moon makes Dave’s skin seem to shine. It filters through his hair, making it appear as if it’s made of strands of silver silk. Still, the beat of the music continues to pulse through his body.

“You’ve had too much,” Dave mumbles. His voice is better than the music. “I’m sorry. I should’ve watched you better.” He pulls the troll along, until the pair reaches a table in the brothel’s courtyard.

Rose and Kanaya are here. Karkat can’t recall seeing either of them before now. No, wait. He saw Rose. Yes. He saw Rose.

Dave signs.

Karkat’s heart drops when Rose begins interpreting. “You can’t just have that much to drink your first time. Sopor is nasty shit, dude. You’re staying here until you’re sober again.” Her expression remains neutral, as it so often does.

When Karkat looks around at the end of the statement, Dave has disappeared.

“He’s a bouncer for the event,” Rose explains. “He’s explicitly instructed me to drop any preconceived grudges against you, although I did not explicitly say I would do so. Still, I am obligated to watch you until you come down from this high you’re having right now.”

“You’ll have quite the headache tomorrow,” Kanaya provides. “When we return home, I’ll leave you some painkillers.”

“Thanks.” Karkat doesn’t remember saying the word. He’s too busy looking at the stars. They seem like they’re twirling. They smile at him, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and embrace them. He wants to hold them to his chest and feel their warmth.

“How much did you drink, by the way?” Kanaya inquires.

“Four,” Karkat repeats.

A snort of laughter escapes Rose.

Kanaya groans.

Time passes.

Slowly, the world stops spinning. His usual anxieties return. One by one. School. Finances. Dave. Oh. Fuck… Dave. _Dave_. Why did he do that shit?

“How long has it been?” Rose sounds exhausted. She sits at the table, with her head resting on her folded arms. The black ribbon in her hair has fallen slightly out of place.

Kanaya, after smoothing out the wrinkles of her jade green overcoat, checks her watch. “Four hours.”

Karkat sighs. His eyelids are heavy. He rolls over, dully realizes that he’s laying on the ground, and falls asleep.

The warmth of the sun eventually wakes him, though the air is no less biting. His head is pounding. His thoughts, racing. The world is too bright. When he looks up, he sees Dave—eating a bowl of steaming oatmeal, huddled under a Feather Down Pillow brand fleece blanket, and sitting at the same table that had once been occupied by Rose and Kanaya.

The human sees the troll. He smiles. After setting aside his bowl, he greets him. [You’re awake.]

“I feel like shit.”

[You look like it, too.] Dave laughs.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Whatever. Rub it in.” The smell of Dave surrounds him and he realizes it’s because the man’s jacket hangs from his shoulders.

[Let’s go back to the apartment.] Dave reaches into his pocket. Taking out his old shades, he offers them to the bleary troll. [These will help.]

Karkat wastes no time in accepting the offer. He eagerly dons the tinted lenses and revels in the tiny improvement to his splitting headache that they bring. “Where’s the blanket from?”

Dave raises a finger, indicating for Karkat to wait. He uses his phone to send an explanation.

DAVE: I hang out here some. The ladies know me. I’m friends with most of them. No, I don’t show up here for sex. I just like hanging out with the workers. They’re nice. They gave me a blanket, but the rest were all fucked up from the party. They also gave me breakfast, but you were still passed the fuck out.

Karkat doesn’t feel like prying. He nods. Even just reading the text is almost too much for him. “Cool. Let’s go. I feel like someone decided to plow over me with a sixteen-wheeler.”

[Sure.] The smallest of smiles flashes across Dave’s face. Somehow, even without the sopor’s effects, he’s still beautiful…

A singular thought crosses Karkat’s mind: _“Fuck.”_


	19. Human Perspective, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He's a charmer, he'll charm her with money  
> And manners that I never learned  
> He's a leader, he'll lead her across  
> Pretty bridges he's plannin' to burn.”  
> — [The Taker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCF4-lzSuUQ&ab_channel=jannov%C3%A1k), Kris Kristofferson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's still aliiiiiive

**Date: Thursday, 4 February 2055** **  
** **Location: Alternian Diplomatic Studies Apartment (6522 N. Faerghus Blvd., Skaia City)** **  
** **Time: 11:45**

Migraines are nothing new to Karkat Vantas. He’s had his fair share of them throughout his schooling, most of them due to stress. Often, they come in waves, beginning roughly a week before important exams and ending only after he receives his marks for said assessments. This, however, is a new beast entirely. Each whistle of wind and creaking floorboard is like a bullet to the skull. His vision swims, and no improvements come even after several furious blinks. He rolls over, only to find himself sleeping in the bottom bunk. The nicotine-tinged scent of Dave’s sheets lingers in his nose, stinging his throat. He gags.

He lays in bed thusly, waiting for several more minutes, until the spinning waves settle and his stomach doesn’t churn quite as much. Then, with the utmost care, he rises to his feet. He stumbles to the kitchen, whereupon he begins ransacking the fridge. He thinks back, to some of the rumors of hangover cures from earlier college days. One matesprit tale says that a raw sanguine cluckbeast egg, whisked and mixed into grub juice, helps. So, he does this. At the first sip, he finds himself forcing vomit back down his gullet. Still, he persists. He chugs the grotesque mélange.

When he finishes, he finally takes a moment to try and remember what happened.

The party. Yes, he can recall going to a party. Dave had taken him to a party at a brothel. And he’d had far more than he should have to drink.

“You’re awake.” Dave’s voice startles the troll. The man lounges on the sofa. A mostly faded bruise is visible around his right eye, and his knuckles are raw, bright, stinging pink. [You’ve been sleeping for a while.]

“No shit.” Karkat groans. Even the sound of his own voice is too loud for him. “I feel like the garbage dragged in by the most drugged purrbeast."

[You look like it.] Dave shrugs. There’s nothing particularly snarky about the statement; his expression is blank. To him, it seems it’s just a factual comment. [Does aspirin work on trolls?]

“No.” In the back of his mind, Karkat vaguely remembers hearing about humans trying to cure their hangovers with the medicine. “I doubt you have any, though, so why offer it?”

[You’re right.] A pause. Dave rubs the back of his neck. “You’re not going to get rid of that headache.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Drinking runs in my family.” Dave looks away. He plucks at a tear on the thigh of his jeans. “Spent most of my teens drunk as hell.”

“Oh.” Karkat frowns. He can see it. In fact, thinking about Dave’s personality, it makes sense. “I never had time to party, so…”

“You told me.” The flatness of Dave’s voice makes it impossible for Karkat to gauge if he’s annoyed. His face says he isn’t, but the way his shoulders are squared might mean that he is. “I’ve got to go. Have stuff to do. Hope you feel better.” He rises to his feet, waves, and departs without further fanfare.

* * *

**Date: Saturday, 6 February 2055** ****  
**Location: An alley near Skaia Academy** **  
** **Time: Approximately 13:30**

Leaning against a rusting metal garbage can, Rose pinches the bridge of her nose. She heaves a visible sigh, taps manicured purple nails against the crumbling brick wall. Her lips are tightly pursed. [No, Dave, I’m not mediating between you and your loan shark.]

[You know nobody understands me on the phone,] protests Dave. For the topic at hand, his posture is strangely relaxed. He knows that this is an argument he’ll win. For as often he and his twin butt heads, they’ll always come around and stand up for one another. [Please, Rose. They’re getting pretty upset about this.]

[Then maybe you should have picked a better dead drop than a seedy alley.] Rose folds her arms across her chest. It mimics what Dave does when he’s finished a discussion, but it doesn’t work nearly as well when she’s perfectly capable of responding verbally.

[I’m not asking you for money, Rosie,] he uses an even more informal version of Rose’s name sign than usual. He learned it from his father, who sometimes used it during his drunken rants. Taking his phone from his pocket, he pulls up the loan agency’s number and pushes the device towards Rose. [Turn on speaker phone.]

From Rose, a dramatic roll of her eyes. [Fuck you. You owe me for this.]

“Ah. David.” The voice on the other end of the phone line appears in solid white text. “This is Doctor Scratch, of Cueball Loans, your one-stop place for easy and fair loans done quick. I do hope that you’re calling to inform me that you’ve recovered the conveniently lost dues you owe me.”

“Yes, hello, this is Rose Lalonde. I’m Dave’s twin sister. I’m speaking on my brother’s behalf.” From here, she begins interpreting Dave’s signing. “I’d like to ask for an extension on the loan repayment, as I haven’t come across enough to even begin paying the sum back.”

“Oh? Really? You haven’t?” Scratch responds. Even without hearing it, there’s a strange smugness to the statement. “Well, then, I have no choice but to add an additional half a million to your outstanding balance as collateral. Surely, you can understand this.”

“Or,” Rose interjects, her usual professionalism dropping. There’s a fire in her eyes; Dave doesn’t even dare to imagine what her voice might sound like. “I could report you for extortion.”

“Oh, really? Surely, Miss Lalonde, you realize how pointless that would be. At this current moment, the debts David owes are under the jurisdiction of his current place of residence. Alternian law will always side with me, as an ambassador to the colony. So, you’d just be wasting my time. Now, do let David respond for himself, hm?”

“Fine.” Rose bites her lip. Her fingers tangle in her hair and tug, nervously, at strands of light blond. “He agrees to the terms you’ve given.”

“Splendid! Your outstanding balance is now eight hundred thousand. In addition, we will add the requisite fifty thousand security surcharge. We can’t have you running off without paying your fair share, now, can we?”

Rose opens her mouth to protest.

Dave levels a warning glare at her.

“Yes. Of course.” With furrowed brows and a palpable air of stress now radiating from her, Rose provides Dave’s final comments on the matter, “Thank you very much for your understanding. Dave will repay you by the end of the year.”

“I look forward to no longer having to follow up with you, Mr. Strider.”

Rose hangs up. Her shoulders slump, and the visible toll of her brother’s constant shenanigans manifest itself.

A wave of guilt-induced nausea churns in Dave’s stomach. “Thanks. Like. A whole fucking lot. I mean it. I swear on Mom’s grave,” he mumbles.

[Really?] Rose’s movements are sharp, pointed, and dripping with something that straddles the line between sarcasm and criticism. [Dave, you and I both know that I genuinely care for your wellbeing. You’re technically the oldest of this dysfunctional pair, but you have to get your shit together.]

[I’ve been working on it,] Dave counters. He holds his hands at chest level, the fingers curled to form the ‘A’ shape with both hands. The palms face inward and, with a slight forward pushing motion and a flick of his wrists, he turns them so both palms face forward. He repeats this sign once. [I’m trying.]

There’s a strange lapse in discussion. Rose’s expression melts, changing from stern and reprimanding to something almost resembling pity. It digs—deeply, uncomfortably—into Dave’s sense of himself.

[I know. You’re doing great. But we both know that you can’t come up with that much money. Not legally. As much as I say I don’t like you, we both know that’s a substantial lie. Mother is dead. Even if he was still alive, neither of us particularly care for our so-called father. You’re the last person this cursed family has left. As much as I’d love to, I simply can’t spare money from Mother's estate. Not that much.] 

[I wouldn’t have asked!] Dave interrupts. [I don’t want your money, Rose. You and Mom got out. It’s not my money.]

[Karkat obviously doesn’t have the funds for it. He seems to be on the same financial footing as you are, albeit without the debts.] Dave can practically see the cogs turning in Rose’s head. [You said you’ve saved some money since you were robbed. How much?]

[$1,000. I’ve been doing freelance security work lately.] Dave doesn’t dare mention his infrequent outings to street fights. [Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. Thanks for the help.]

[As your twin sister, I’m obligated to worry about you.] Rose is resolute. She’s both persistent and resilient, qualities that Dave has always admired. For all the things he’s experienced, he’s never considered himself to be in the same category of sheer willpower as Rose. She quit drinking cold turkey; he’d struggled into his early twenties. She’d handled their father’s death with grace; Dave fell apart. She’s everything he wishes he could be, and perhaps that’s why he so often antagonizes her.

Now, looking at the pure worry on her face, Dave is reminded of his own failures. He’s never really had many true friends. His upbringing isolated him from the Deaf community of Houston for long enough for him to be a sore thumb—an obvious black sheep—among its ranks. He was never  _ really  _ accepted, merely tolerated. As a child, he was often derided as a failure. Rose was an excellent student and role model; he was a reject, a coincidental member of a scrappy street gang.

It all weighs on him, until he snaps. Words tumble from his mouth, the gates that often hold them back shattering. With Rose, he doesn’t need to worry about his words being misunderstood. “Don’t. Why would you? It’s not like I’m much to lose. You’ve got, like, billions of better things to be doing than wasting your time on me. Just forget about it. Dump all this inane bullshit out, okay? It’s my problem, not yours, and I’ll figure it out."

_ “Of course you won’t figure it out,”  _ chides the nagging, omnipresent voice in the back of his head.  _ “That’s not how you work.” _

Still, Dave pushes himself to continue, “I feel bad enough having gotten into this shit in the first place. I don’t need to drag you down with me. Stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”

[We both know your lane is going to be ending pretty soon if you don’t get this under control,] Rose cautions. [For your sake, I’ll do my best to remove myself from the equation, but you need to have a plan soon. I’m always happy to offer help when I can.]

Dave stares at his feet. He studies the scuffed toes of his canvas sneakers. The bright red has faded to a muddy, dull pink. The frigid air seeps through threadbare spots.

“Come on,” Rose says, gently tugging at Dave’s hand. “If we don’t get back to the dorms soon, they’ll get suspicious.”


End file.
